


Please, Remember Me

by TheCelestialOcean



Series: I'm a Ghost to You, You're a Ghost to Me [1]
Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Arthur Fleck is Sad, Arthur's not a virgin anymore, Did I cry while writing it maybe, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I included his co-star the cigarette, I project my own fantasies onto my smut, I'm a glutton for punishment, Includes the events of the movie, Joker 2019 is a tragedy and nothing but a tragedy and nobody will change my mind, Pining Arthur, Smut, The devolution of Arthur Fleck, Things get spicy up in here, This story hurt to write, Twisted, Will Anyone Actually Read This, everyone is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21679708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCelestialOcean/pseuds/TheCelestialOcean
Summary: Fate, or whatever forces are at work, bring Brooke and Arthur together. Tender romance ensues, and quickly bursts into an all-consuming flame. She watches him bloom into a more confident man as they spend time together, unaware of the impending darkness that is creeping into his life behind the scenes. She desperately tries to hold on, but the truth is an enemy that cannot be defeated.
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/Joker, Arthur Fleck/Original Character(s), Arthur Fleck/Original Female Character(s)
Series: I'm a Ghost to You, You're a Ghost to Me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569973
Comments: 25
Kudos: 113





	1. He's Not Hurting Anyone

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by repeatedly listening to Gregory Alan Isakov's magical cover of "The Trapeze Swinger," plus my apparent desire to hurt my own feelings. It follows the events of the movie. Also, word of warning, things get pretty steamy, and pretty dark (but what else would you expect when it comes to Arthur?)
> 
> I've been working on this story nonstop for weeks, unable to get it out of my head. Strap in, it's gonna be a long one. If anyone actually reads this novel, thank you. Please be gentle with me, it's my first fanfic. I'm currently hard at work on the rest of the story, and have no fear - I will be finishing it. I'm obsessed and will be seeing it through to the end.

Public transportation would never cease to amaze you. People from all walks of life existed in one shared space, overlapping for one short moment. The opportunity for people-watching was unparalleled, and you loved to imagine the backstories of others. The old lady sitting across from you on the bus had dark but graying hair. It was styled in a beautiful, intricate braid. Her dark eyebrows were furrowed as she read the newspaper, small wrinkles lining her face. You tried to picture her when she was young, maybe your age. Was she married? Ever in love? What kind of loss had she experienced in her lifetime? Did she have grandkids that lived in the city and came to visit her? Your fingers twitched, and you wished you had your sketchbook. 

A sudden noise to your left caught your attention: laugher. You ignored it ,until you couldn’t. It sounded… painful. You glanced up to see the man making all the commotion, sitting across the aisle and one row up. You couldn’t see him very well, just the shaking of his brown hair from behind and his hand coming up to cover his mouth. People around you were looking his way, too. Some were glaring, some had raised brows and were shaking their heads. The laughter continued for what felt like minutes. 

Just to your left, a man in his 20s stood up, something that looked like crumpled paper gripped in his hand. Before you could register what was happening, he threw it towards the laughter. It hit the poor man on the side of his face, and his whole body flinched. He turned as far into the window of the bus as possible, as if trying to escape. His laughter continued, muffled by his hand. 

The jackass was laughing now too, loudly and cruelly. A few people watching the scene were hesitantly chuckling. An instant rage filled you, and blood rushed to your face. 

“Leave him alone.” The words fell from your lips before you could stop it. Shocked, you bit your lip as heads turned toward you – including the jackass. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” He demanded, sounding more shocked than angry. He was classically handsome, but his eyes were mean and intimidating.

You cleared your throat, knowing you needed to deescalate the situation. Why did you have to say anything, get involved at all? Sometimes you really couldn’t take yourself anywhere. Sighing, you tried not to look angry or sound accusing. “I just said leave him alone, that’s all. He’s not hurting anyone.” You held the man’s gaze, praying he didn’t take things any further. 

He rolled his eyes, mumbled under his breath, and sank back into his seat. A quiet sigh of relief slipped through your lips, and you turned your gaze down to the floor to avoid the stares aimed in your direction. 

An odd sensation crept up your spine, something you didn’t understand. Risking a glance upward, you instantly met a pair of curious eyes staring at you from between seats. Just as quickly as you met his gaze, it was gone. Curiosity filled your senses, but you couldn’t get a good view of him without drawing attention to yourself. So you sat back, rested your head, and forced yourself to keep your nose out of other people’s business. You tried to calm yourself, bitter that people in this city could be so unbelievably nasty.

Sometime later the bus lurched forward and you opened your eyes, regaining your balance in your seat. You weren’t sure how long you’d been resting. Curiosity getting the best of you, you stretched, pretending to yawn. You were able to raise your head just enough to see over the seats; the laughing man was gone. You’d never even gotten a good look at him, and a part of you was strangely disappointed. 

You rested back into your seat, looking down at your hands. Wherever he was, you hoped he was alright. Nobody deserved to be treated that way.


	2. Do I Know You From Somewhere?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke finds herself running into Arthur, surprised by her growing desire to learn more about him, finding that they're not so different. His naive, soft nature draws her in like a moth to a flame, and by the end of the night the spell has been cast.

*** A Week Later***

Stuffing your tips from the evening into your purse, you quickly slipped your coat on over your waitress uniform. It was late, and you knew it was going to be a cold walk. 

“Hey Brooke, you working tomorrow?” Sam’s voice came from behind you, and you offered her a tight-lipped smile as you slipped a beanie over your hair.

“No, thank god. I had a hell of a night. Fucking nasty customers.” Not that you were surprised. You lived in Gotham, after all. 

“Yeah I saw that dick. Don’t worry, those kinds of people are just looking for a fight. You could have brought him a meal fit for King Henry the Eighth and he still would have found something to complain about. My break is over but I’ll see you sometime soon, alright?” Her kind face lifted into a smile. Sam was very high up on your list of the friendliest people you’d ever met. Although if you were being honest, it was a damn short list. 

Smiling back at her, you nodded and grabbed the rest of your stuff. “You take care of yourself Sam.” Waving, you made your way out the back door and huffed as the cold instantly hit you. Normally you would get straight onto the bus, but today you had to pick up a few things first. 

Walking briskly, you made sure to keep alert and watchful. Gotham was not the kind of place where you could let your guard down. Hands in your pockets, you gripped your pepper spray. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. The 10-minute walk felt like an hour, and by the time you stepped into the pharmacy you were shivering uncontrollably. Luckily, they had the heat on inside. You gave a quick wave to the man behind the counter, who you recognized as the owner, and started shopping. Grabbing a new razor, toothpaste, and a box of tampons, you headed back toward the front of the store. 

You saw a man at the register and got in line behind him. The owner came out from a back room and kindly stated “alright, here we go, everything you needed.” He set what looked like 4 or 5 medications on the counter. Your heart skipped a beat, overwhelmed with sympathy. 

“Thanks. I’ll take two packs of American Spirit, too.” The stranger said. He had a nice voice, unlike any you’d ever heard. You couldn’t help but notice how skinny he was, his clothes clinging to skin and bone. His hair was long and curled, and looked soft. Suddenly he was turning around, and you jumped in surprise as he almost walked straight into you. He was just as startled, his hands rising in shock and his shopping bag clashing onto the floor. 

“Sorry, sorry… Sorry…” He stammered, shaken. 

Quickly, you bent down and picked up his stuff. Your cheeks burned red in embarrassment. “No! Don’t apologize. I was zoning out and wasn’t paying attention, it was my bad.” Standing up, you glanced at him and were somewhat relieved to see his cheeks slightly flushed as well. He seemed stunted, unsure of how to react. 

Holding out his bag, you urged him to take it from you. “I’m so sorry, here’s your things. I hope I didn’t scare you too badly.” You watched him tentatively grab the bag, and then met his gaze again. You felt a pang of shock ring through you: his eyes were green, possibly the most beautifully expressive eyes you’d ever seen. His dark brows framed them perfectly, and you couldn’t look away. 

Said green eyes squinted at you, and he seemed to be studying your face. Silence fell for a few moments, and you struggled to find something to say. “Uhm… like I said, I’m really sorry again.” 

He just kept looking at you, and your cheeks started to burn even more. Awkwardly, you stepped around him and set your things on the register. The owner, an amused look on his face, rang you up. “I also need to pick up a refill of Celexa.” You added, slightly embarrassed that the stranger behind you was overhearing. 

The owner disappeared to the back room again, and you tapped your fingernails against the counter. The silence hung heavily, and you cursed yourself for being so goddamn socially awkward.

“Uh…I’m sorry for staring. Do I know you from somewhere?” 

Glancing at him over our shoulder, your furrowed your brow and looked him up and down. “You don’t look familiar… are you a customer at Henry’s Grill down the street?” 

He shook his head no, pursing his lips in thought. His hands were gawkily folded in front of him, his back slouched. He looked uncomfortable in his body. The realization that you weren’t the only person here that was socially awkward was somehow calming.

The owner returned with your medication, and you quickly handed him your debit card. Glancing back, you shrugged your shoulders and let out a hesitant laugh. “Maybe I just have one of those faces, you know?” 

Suddenly his green eyes widened, and something flashed across his features. Before you could ask him what was wrong, he brushed his hair out of his face and awkwardly turned toward the exit. “You know, I think you’re right. It’s probably just your face.” He practically ran out the door, and you almost took off after him until you remembered you weren't done paying.

Signing a receipt and grabbing your shopping bag, you quickly thanked the owner and then hurried through the door. You spotted him, speed walking down the sidewalk, but you shouted “Wait!”

It almost looked like he might start running, but instead his shoulders fell and he slowly turned back toward you.

“Did I scare you? I really didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, honestly.” You asked as you caught up to him, confused and pausing to catch your breath. 

His cheeks were red, and you weren’t sure if it was from the cold or from something else. “No…I just realized that I had something important to do at home.” His voice was timid, almost like a child caught in a lie. 

You quirked you head to the side. “Are you sure we don't know each other from somewhere?” you weren’t sure why you were pushing, why you had followed him in the first place. 

He looked a bit panicked, and then appeared to choke on something. “No, I don’t think-“ he was cut off as a laugh spilled from his lips, seemingly out of nowhere. Baffled, you weren’t sure how to respond. He continued laughing, a mortified look in his eyes as he covered his mouth and turned away from you. 

It hit you like a truck full of bricks. Of course. You could picture his brown hair, his hunched form in the seat of the bus. You grimaced as he coughed violently between laughter, folding over and gripping his stomach. It sounded so painful, like his throat was raw and he couldn’t breathe. 

Stepping closer to him, you gently placed your hand on his back, rubbing softly and trying to ignore the alarm you felt at how distinctly you could feel his bones. He jumped in surprise when you touched him, continuing to laugh into his arm. You stood there with him, trying to comfort him, until finally his laughter began to subside. He was heaving, trying to catch his breath. 

“Are you alright? Do you want to sit down?” You asked gently, sympathy twisting in your gut. 

He shook his head slightly, his breathing beginning to slow. “I’m sorry.” The words were so quiet and shaky that you almost didn’t hear them. You rubbed his shoulder soothingly, perplexed that he would feel the need to apologize. “Don’t be sorry, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” 

You stayed silent, giving him time to recover. His shoulders were still trembling when he finally returned to a standing position. He avoided your gaze, quickly wiping away what seemed to be a tear from his cheek. He started to say something, but it got caught in his throat and he continued to look down at the ground. 

Your heart clenched tightly and uncontrollably. You were overcome with the desire to wrap your arms around him and tell him that everything was alright. He seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Can I buy you a coffee?” You weren’t sure where it came from, what was possessing you to pursue this stranger. But the need to help him, to show him kindness, was overwhelming.

His gaze lifted up from the pavement below, bewilderment all over his face. “W-what?”

Resolute, you nodded your head in decision. “Yep, come on. There’s a diner right around the corner here, we can go inside and warm up with a cup of coffee.” Without waiting for a response, you gently grabbed the hand that wasn’t holding his medications and pulled him alongside you. 

Two blocks later you reached the diner you’d been to with Sam, guiding him through the door. Since it was late it was pretty much empty, and you led him to the table in the very back. Falling onto the bench seat, you looked up at him expectantly. He looked so utterly lost, you found yourself almost laughing at how adorable he looked. “Come on, I don’t bite. I promise.” 

He didn’t return your smile, his eyes suspicious, but his shoulders relaxed a bit and he slowly sat down on the bench opposite you. A waitress approached the table and you greeted her, ordering two coffees while his gaze burned into you. Once she turned away, you met his eyes and smiled sweetly.

“I hope this doesn’t qualify as kidnapping.”

He instantly released a puff of air, caught off guard as a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. The ice finally broken, he nervously rested his hands on the table and twiddled his fingers. “I’m sorry…I just…I’m not used to people…talking to me.” He admitted shyly. 

Your heart squeezed again. The waitress returned with your coffees, and you smiled at her in thanks. You gripped the warm mug, and he did the same. “Do you…feel any better?” You asked cautiously, not wanting to push him to talk about it if he didn’t want to. 

He bit his lip, rubbing his face with one hand and staring at the coffee in front of him. “Yes, definitely. Thank you.”

He sucked in a shaky breath, and you quickly spoke up. “You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.” 

He was silent for a moment, and then shook his head slightly. “It’s a condition. I laugh…at inappropriate times. I’m not sure what it is exactly. When I get nervous, or sad, or uncomfortable. I can’t really… control it.” He sighed, and you tried to imagine what it would be like to live with such a unique affliction. 

“It sounds like it’s painful. Does it happen to you a lot?” 

He chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, it does.” 

You could sense the unspoken pain behind those words. You considered all of the ways that Gotham had likely chewed this guy up and spit him out, and your heart felt like it might break in half. Suddenly you chuckled a bit, and he looked at you with a raised brow, clearly wondering what could possibly be funny in this moment. 

“Sorry, sorry. I’m not laughing at that. I just realized that I don’t even know your name, that’s all.” 

“Oh… It’s Arthur, Arthur Fleck. What’s yours?” 

“Brooke Hargrove. It’s really nice to meet you, Arthur.” 

He smiled softly, a sadness prevalent in his eyes. “I was going to thank you. On the bus, the other day.”

Remembering that dickwad brought a scowl to your face. “You don’t need to thank me. That guy was a loser that deserved worse than he got. I only wish I’d had the guts to say more to him than I did.”

Arthur’s eyes were wide. “I…well…thank you. Nobody ever stands up for me like that. I don’t know why people are so rude.” He rubbed his face, which you were quickly recognizing as one of his nervous ticks. 

There was a pause. “Does that kind of thing…happen a lot?” 

He flinched, like he was afraid of the question. Or maybe afraid of the answer. Sipping his coffee, he shrugged as if brushing it off. But his eyes shimmered with tears, his lip quivering. You felt your own eyes welling up, his pain so plainly evident that it broke your heart. Before you could resist, you reached out and covered his hands with your own. Rubbing your thumbs along his knuckles, you allowed him to silently cry. 

After a few minutes of silence had passed, he lifted a hand and wiped his cheeks, flushed with embarrassment. You moved one hand to take a sip of your coffee, keeping the other hand clasped over his. You sat in silence like this until both of your coffees were almost gone. You noticed Arthur’s eyelids beginning to droop and you started to worry that he would fall asleep right there at the table. You wondered if anyone ever asked him about his condition, if he kept his emotions pent up or if he had someone to talk to.

“Do you have to take the bus home?” You asked tenderly. He nodded a confirmation, dread filling his features. You squeezed his hand before finally letting go, finishing your coffee and setting some bills on the table to cover both drinks. 

“I’ll ride with you. I have to catch the bus, too.” You smiled, offering him your hand. He finished off his coffee, grabbed his bag of medication in one hand and tentatively accepted your hand with his other. He stumbled up from the table, his shoulder pressing against yours as he steadied himself. Smiling in thanks to the waitress, you made your way to the bus stop in the freezing cold. 

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and quickly lighting one. He offered it to you, and you gladly took it from him. It had been a while since you’d had a cigarette, and it hit you just right. 

You asked him where he lived, and discovered it was just a few blocks away from your apartment. The bus arrived a few minutes later, and he quickly flicked his cigarette and stepped on it. You both climbed aboard and found a pair of available seats, and spent the majority of the ride in easy silence. You kept holding his hand, watching out of the corner of your eye as his legs shook with nervous energy. 

You wanted to ask what medications he took, but knowing how personal that kind of information is, you leave it alone. 

“I’ve never…never met anyone like you.” He said quietly, his voice shaking as much as his legs. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

You smile, looking at his face even though he’s not meeting your eyes. “I don’t like seeing people in pain. This city is a brutal and unforgiving place. Life’s hard, and it fucking sucks. I know what it’s like, believe me. I really don’t know anything about you Arthur, but you seem like a kind person.” 

He hiccuped a bit like his breath was caught in his throat, and his green eyes meet yours. “You’re beautiful.” He blurts out, immediately pursing his lips, shamefully looking away and pulling his hand from yours. 

A blush warms your cheeks, and you smile tenderly. “Thank you, Arthur. See, I was right – you are a kind person.” 

“My mom always says I was put on this earth to spread joy and laughter.” He mutters quietly, shrugging his shoulders slightly. 

“Well, she’s definitely right.” He doesn’t respond, but you hope that he knows it’s true. “I’ve gotta get off at the next stop.” You say regretfully, and he closes his eyes. “But…I work at Henry’s Grill 6 days a week, in the evenings. Maybe…you could come in sometime?” There’s no reaction at first, and you’re worried you made a mistake. 

Then he looks at you, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. “You’d want me to?” 

“Of course I would. I could use a friend, if I'm being honest. I don’t… really have many.” It was true. Friends were few and far between – Sam was the closest you’d ever gotten to a best friend, and you really weren’t all that close. The idea of inviting him to the restaurant terrified you.

Your words must have struck a chord with him, because he looked intensely into your eyes as if he understood exactly what you meant. You thought back to his laughing attack, the way people treated him on the bus. He probably needed a friend. He bobbed his head slightly. “Ok, I’ll come see you sometime.”

You smiled, and he returned it. His eyes gripped you, swirling with intense emotion and yet strikingly childlike at the same time. The bus suddenly came to a stop, and a quick glance out the window told you this was your stop. You smiled apologetically at him and stood up. He stood up as well, allowing you to step past him.

“I’ll see you sometime soon Arthur, yeah?” 

He nodded, his gentle and beautiful eyes following you as you stepped onto the sidewalk. You waved at him through the window and he waved back, watching you as the bus pulled away and then disappeared down the street. Sighing, you turned and headed to your apartment building. It was rundown and dingy, but it was all you could afford. 

You found yourself thinking about Arthur nonstop, letting yourself into your dark apartment. It was scarcely decorated, the kitchen filled with dirty dishes and the small living room covered with dirty clothes and boxes of things that needed to go into storage. Home, sweet home. You thought sarcastically. But just like every other day, you were too tired to deal with anything tonight. 

Opening your shopping bag, you found the medication and popped off the lid. Quickly taking a pill, you washed it down with some water and then poured yourself a glass of wine. You took a shower, eager to wash off the sweat from work. And all the time, you couldn’t shake Arthur from your mind. You’ weren’t sure what had possessed you to be so forward with him. You generally enjoyed being friendly to people, but usually kept things strictly at a surface level. Maybe it was your way of feeling like a less shitty person, a coping mechanism for how much you hated yourself sometimes. If you could brighten a person's day by waving and saying hello, maybe it would make it easier to look at yourself in the mirror. With Arthur though, you had to admit that you'd stepped way out of your comfort zone, let down a wall that usually stayed firmly in place. You weren't sure if the realization scared you, or comforted you. 

Stepping out of the shower, you stared at your own reflection. You’d like to think you hid your exhaustion pretty well, but one glance in the mirror shatters that belief. The bags under your eyes give away your lack of consistent sleep, and when you smile at your reflection, it looks unnatural on your face. 

You watch a tear slide down your cheek, but you don’t bother to wipe it away. Maybe you do know why you felt so drawn to Arthur. Maybe a part of you recognized something in him. He seemed lonely, more than anything. Anxious, uncomfortable in his own skin, as if he didn’t really know how to handle living in this world. And you understood that more than you cared to admit. 

You thought back to the medications he carried with him. How many was he taking? What kind of help was he getting? Did his family know what he was going through and support him? Slipping on an oversized t-shirt, you climbed into bed. The picture on your nightstand caught your attention, and you smiled forlornly at it. Your parents had been so happy, their smiles full of love. It hurt to admit that sometimes, you couldn’t picture their faces. Sometimes it felt like you were forgetting them, and it overwhelmed you with guilt. They would be so ashamed to see you now. Ashamed that you were stuck at a dead-end job, in this dead-end city. Your relationship with your sister was destroyed, and you needed pills to feel like your life had any stability. 

You realized suddenly that letting your walls down with Arthur didn’t scare you, it comforted you. The world was such a cold and unfriendly place, and even though you were sure you didn’t do all that much to help Arthur, it felt good to at least try. Reaching for the bottle of pain meds next to your bed, you popped out two pills and washed them down with the last few gulps of wine.


	3. Going Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke’s day is off to a normal start when her gut instinct starts ringing alarm bells. Arthur follows through, and she finds herself becoming fast friends with him.

*** 2 Days Later ***

You Wrapped your scarf tighter around your neck, and pulled on gloves as you waited for the bus. Your body was screaming at you to not go to work, to run away and never look back. An old woman shuffled past you on the sidewalk, holding her cane and wrapped in a blanket. When you made eye contact with her, you smiled, and she seemed surprised before smiling back. 

“How’s your day going?” you asked. 

“Very well, how about yours?” she responded, as she continued to shuffle along. 

“Same here, thanks for asking.” Just then, the bus appeared and came to a stop in front of you. Offering a friendly smile, you turned back to her. “Stay warm, alright?” 

She smiled and waved, and you climbed up on the bus and found a seat. As you sat and people-watched, you felt the uncomfortable sensation of someone’s eyes on you. Glancing around, you didn’t see anyone obvious looking at you and your brow furrowed in confusion. You must be going crazy. 

By the time you arrived at your stop, the sensation was gone. As you turned the corner and walked toward the back entrance of the Grill however, the feeling suddenly returned. Gripping the doorknob, you paused and surveyed your surroundings. Once again, there was nobody around. This time, you couldn’t shake the feeling and goosebumps raised along your skin. 

You quickly opened the door and snuck inside, your heart pounding. 

“Brooke! Hey!” You practically flew off the ground at the sound of Sam’s voice. 

“Whoa, I didn’t mean to startle you, what’s up with you?” 

Your nerves slowly settled, and you wiped your brow. “No, that was my bad. I could have sworn someone was watching me. Either this job is officially driving me crazy or I’ve been watching too many scary movies.” You laughed at your own ridiculousness, walking with her to the staff room and getting ready for another shift in paradise.

*** 3 Days Later ***

It was the middle of the dinner rush when you caught sight of him. He was sitting at a small table, all by himself. As soon as you finished taking your tables order, you made your way over and smiled as he noticed you. 

“I’m so glad you actually showed up. It’s good to see you! How have you been? Have you ordered anything?”

Arthur’s smile held a bit of surprise, almost as if he hadn’t expected you to remember him. He cleared his throat, looking at the menu. “No, well, I wasn’t really sure what to order. I don’t really... go out to eat much, I don’t really know what I would like.” He admitted.

You chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Well the good news is, you can’t really go wrong. The bad news is, I have about 10 suggestions for you, and you’ll have to decide on which one to try.” 

He laughed, eyes twinkling. “Not the worst problem to have.” He joked, and you joined him in laughter. Glancing around to make sure you could spare a few minutes, you sat down for a moment and helped him decide on what to order.

For the next week and a half, he was in every other night. You would pause and chat with him every chance you got, which wasn’t as often as you would have liked. The conversations were generally short and consisted of nothing of substance, and yet they somehow became your favorite part of the day and you found yourself looking forward to his visits.

Every time, without fail, he would finish his meal and awkwardly stay at his table, pretending to look at nothing in particular until he found a chance to say goodnight to you. His green eyes were gradually growing less timid, his demeanor more comfortable with each visit. Sometimes when you caught him looking at you, you would find yourself glancing away, a soft blush warming your cheeks. He was sweet, and funny in his own awkward way.

Tonight, you watched him shuffle out of the restaurant after hugging him goodbye, and decided that the next time you saw him, you were gonna ask him on a date. A real date, where you could order your food together and sit without having to worry about how much longer your 10 minutes break would last. 

Just thinking about it made you smile uncontrollably.


	4. Do You Like Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After hearing the news of a killer clown on the loose, Brooke is surprised by Arthur as he takes the initiative to move their relationship forward, leaving her breathless and sure of the fact that she is in the best kind of trouble.

Wrapped in a bathrobe, you poured yourself a cup of coffee and made your way to the couch. You managed to clear up a spot to sit down, and sighed in frustration. The apartment was still a disaster, but you just couldn’t work up the energy to deal with it. Grabbing the remote, you switched on the TV and turned on the news. 

“The three young men were found brutally murdered just last night, shot multiple times in the subway.” The newscasters voice seemed to boom from the TV, your jaw dropping slightly at her words. “Witnesses say that a man in a clown mask was seen leaving the scene, and it now appears that this mystery clown has become the prime suspect in the grisly murder. The men worked for Thomas Wayne, and sources say they were on their way home from work when they were viciously attacked.”

Your heart dropped as the news continued. Shit like this happened in Gotham, it certainly wasn’t unheard of. But this was disturbingly close to where you lived, and the men they showed pictures of appeared to be in their early 20s. You changed the channel, but it seemed to be the only thing that anyone was talking about. This whole city was sick, and it was starting to get out of control. The garbage piling up around the streets was a clear symbol of the disease. 

A few hours later, you were back at work and putting on your name tag. Glancing in the bathroom mirror, you straightened your shirt and wiped off a bit of mascara that had smudged beneath your eyes. Staring at your reflection, you reached into your pocket and quickly popped a pill in your mouth, using some water from the faucet to wash it down. _You can do this. It’s just another day._

Stepping out of the bathroom, you noticed a group of people sitting at the table in the staff room, animatedly discussing the subway murders. It was a common conversation topic among customers as well, seemingly all anyone could talk about. It was one of the longest nights you’d ever worked, so bad that you snuck a shot of tequila in the back room during your 10-minute break. 

By the time you clocked out, you wanted to run out the door. You didn’t even look for Sam to say goodbye – you’d see her again tomorrow. You grabbed all your things and were gone, wrapping up in your coat and clutching your purse to your side. You turned the corner of the building, and shrieked when hands suddenly gripped your shoulders. 

You instantly reached for your pepper spray, as a hand came up and covered your mouth. 

“Shh shh shh, It’s just me!” The voice hit your ears, the hand left your mouth and you found yourself gazing into familiar green eyes. 

“Arthur?! You scared the fuck out of me!” you gripped your chest, feeling your heart racing. His eyes were trained on you, unwavering. He didn’t say anything, just studied you. 

For the first time, you noticed how attractive he was. Actually, that was a lie. You’d noticed it right away, if you were being honest with yourself. Yes, he was too skinny and had a sort of boyish look to him, but you were inexplicably attracted to him. Something about him was different tonight; there was a self-confidence in him that had never been there before. It was throwing you off, and your practiced casual facade seemed to crumble around you. 

“Do you like me, Brooke?” He asked, eyes burning into yours. 

“W-what?” You couldn’t even remember how to function. Had you spoken aloud, or was he a mind reader? Words escaped you, and you felt your cheeks redden. “Arthur, I…” you noticed his appearance, his disheveled clothes, the slightly wild look in his eyes, his hair unrulier than usual. “Are you alright? You don’t look very well-“

“I didn’t sleep last night. Brooke. Do. You. Like. Me?” His voice was deeper than you remembered, too. A warmth settled in your stomach, a slight buzz that you felt all the way down to your toes. What was going on? When you'd parted ways just the other day, he'd been a man that made your heart flutter and ache. Now, he was making it pound with anticipation, your palms growing sweaty as you licked your lips.

“I…” you were breathless, unable to find words. His eyes, for the first time in minutes, dropped and settled on your mouth. His eyelids hung heavily, his eyes glazed over and he licked his lips. The warmth coming from your core instantly ignited.

Without another word, he stepped into you and walked you backward, his hands gripping your shoulders, his eyes never leaving your lips. Your back met brick, and he stepped close until you were pressed tightly between him and the wall. His mouth was tantalizingly close, and his eyes lifted to meet yours. His warm breath hit your cheek, and you forgot about the cold as his body heat surrounded you. 

“You’re beautiful.” You whispered, gazing into his eyes in awe. Suddenly his lips were gently caressing yours, his fingers brushing along your jaw. You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling. He deepened the kiss, letting out a low moan as he did so. Your hand came up to gently grip the back of his head, his hair just as soft as you thought it would be. He pressed against you, one hand falling to caress your hip. 

When he pulled away, you wanted to groan and beg him not to stop. You didn’t realize you’d been holding your breath, and found that your legs were trembling. Shocked, you stared at him, speechless.

“Brooke… I feel alive.” 

His words confused you, and you gently rubbed his cheek. “Of course you’re alive Arthur, you’re here and you’re with me.”

His eyes were wide and unfocused. “I am alive. I am alive” he mumbled. Gently, you caught one of his hands in yours and squeezed it. 

“What on earth happened, Arthur? You seem so...different. I don’t mean it in a negative way, I promise I’m not complaining." He looked like he wasn't sure how to answer you, so you laughed and filled the silence. "It’s cold out here, let’s go to my place or yours. Let’s drink a warm cup of coffee and talk.” He didn’t respond, lost in thought. You pulled him close to you and guided him to the bus stop, hugging him close for warmth as you stood together. 

Was this crazy? Were you crazy for letting him kiss you, for loving every second of it? A man that you’d known for barely two weeks? 

_But I do know him._ You were at war with yourself. You recognized a struggle within him, one that you were all too familiar with. The struggle to exist in this unforgiving world. He was lonely and hurting, just like you. And maybe it was reckless, maybe it was foolish, but being around him brought you a sense of peace. Like you could voice your inner demons, and he would understand them all. You felt comfortable around him, letting your walls down more and more. He made you feel... giddy. 

Your previous boyfriends, though there hadn’t been many, had been assholes. You had a bad habit of falling for men that were unstable, immature, and took advantage of you. Men you fooled yourself into thinking you could fix. Arthur was different, and he made you _feel_ different. He had no ulterior motive, no scheme to get you into his bed and use you for all you were worth. 

Relief filled your veins when you saw the bus approaching. You just wanted to get home, wrap up in a blanket, and explore this strange yet exciting connection. As you both climbed in and sat down, you noticed his blank stare. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” You whispered. 

He twitched, then laughed, and for a moment you were worried that he was going to suffer an episode. He kept it under control though, and you looked at him inquisitively. 

“That’s my mom’s name.”

“What is?”

“Penny. Her name is Penny.”

Now you chuckled, and he glanced up at you shyly. 

“Does she live nearby?”

“Yeah, I actually...” He cleared his throat “I take care of her. She lives with me.” 

“That’s sweet, Arthur. Our parents raise us, stay home from work with us when we get sick, teach us how to eat and how to talk. It’s nice to repay the favor.” 

His eyes lit up, a grateful smile aimed toward you that gave you butterflies. 

“Will you come watch my standup routine?” 

Caught off guard, you hesitated for a split second before smiling and nodding. “I didn’t know you were a comedian, why didn’t you tell me? When is it?”

He shrugged. “I mean, it’s not a big deal really. I write down jokes sometimes, just little things that I think of. I’ve been preparing for a while, and I signed up to perform tomorrow night at Pogo’s.”

Your heart sank. “Oh Arthur, I would love to go. But… I work tomorrow night until eight. What time do you start?” 

You could see the disappointment written all over his face. “Well, I actually go on at eight.” He brushed his hair out of his face.

You bit your lip, cursing your stupid job. “I’ll hop on the first bus I can catch and maybe I’ll be able to see the last bit of your act? Either way, we can grab a cup of coffee once you’re done. And I’ll make sure I ask for the evening off of work the next time you sign up, okay?”

You could tell he was still disappointed, but he smiled gently at you. 

You were eager to change the subject, and noticed that you were getting close to your stop. “So… is your mom home? If we go to your apartment, would we disturb her? I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

His brow furrowed, considering it. Had he ever brought a girl back to his apartment? You didn’t want to embarrass him. “My apartment is empty.” You blurted out, trying to save him from any discomfort. “I mean, it’s kind of a disaster which would be humiliating for you to see, but if you’d rather go there so we don’t keep your mother awake, it’s perfectly fine with me.” 

He nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I think that would probably be best. She hasn’t been feeling well recently, and I don’t want to keep her from getting rest.”

“It’s settled then. My apartment it is.” You squeezed his hand, and spent the remainder of the bus ride trying to calm your nerves. Once you reached your stop, you waved to the bus driver as you followed Arthur down the steps.


	5. You Probably Should

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur visits Brooke’s apartment, and she make a bold suggestion.

He lit a cigarette, letting it rest between his lips. The whole walk to your apartment, you found yourself rambling nervously, warning him about how messy your place was. He just listened, walking quietly alongside you. By the time you reached the front door, you were out of breath and kicking yourself for being so intolerable. You unlocked the door, rushing in and turning on the lights, quickly gathering as many things off the floor as you could. 

“Please, come in. Just… don’t look around. Give me two minutes and I’ll have everything cleaned up.” You started piling things up behind the couch, while he awkwardly stepped inside, closing and locking the door behind him and glancing around the room. You cleared off the couch, motioning him towards it. “Here, come sit down while I try to get my shit together. I’ll get a pot of coffee going.” 

He smiled, sitting down and taking in the few decorations on the walls as he took a drag from his cigarette. You quickly cleaned up the kitchen, got a pot of coffee going, and rubbed your cheeks stressfully. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you found your bottle of Celexa and quickly swallowed down a pill. Grabbing your bottle of pain meds, you popped two of those down your throat as well. Finding your bottle of wine, you poured yourself a glass. You cleared your throat before asking him if he wanted a glass, which he declined. You downed half the glass, and then filled it up again. The coffee would take a few minutes, so you joined him on the couch. 

“I don’t know why you were so nervous, your apartment is nice.” His hands were clasped tightly in his lap. 

“It's nothing much, but it does the trick. Kitchen, bathroom, bed, all the necessities.” You pulled your legs up onto the couch, taking another sip of wine. 

“What…. uh…. what medications do you take?” He asked curiously. He must have heard your pill bottles.

You laughed nervously, playing with your fingernails. “Just Celexa. I’ve tried a few other antidepressants, and nothings really worked for me.” 

“And does the Celexa?”

“Does it what?”

“Work for you?” 

“Oh.” You chuckled, unable to disguise your bitterness. “You know, some days I think it does. And then the next morning, I wake up in the same shitty apartment. And I get ready for another shift at the same shitty job, the same shitty job that I swore I wouldn’t get trapped in. And I have bills waiting in my mailbox, and a pitiful bank account, and some nights I don’t even undress before I get into bed because I’m too exhausted. And I tell myself it’s all gonna change, I just need to wait another day, week, month. Maybe by next year my story will change. But it never does.” 

Silence falls, and you can feel his stare. You take a gulp of wine, unsure why you just dumped all of that on him. Your walls just kept coming tumbling down.

“I know what you mean.” He says simply, his eyes filled with emotions that you couldn’t read. You smiled back at him, trying to regain your composure. 

“Yeah, I know you do. That why I like talking to you, Arthur.” 

“I like talking with you, too.” His leg was shaking a bit, and before you could stop yourself, you were reaching out and placing your hand on his thigh. It instantly stilled, and you rubbed it gently. You both held your breath, the world on pause. You found yourself blushing madly, too afraid to look up at him. 

You were saved when you remembered the coffee, quickly jumping up from the couch and calling back to ask if he wanted cream or sugar. He declined both, so you poured two mugs and returned to the couch. He’d found the ashtray on your coffee table, and was carefully putting out his cigarette. 

“Thank you.” He said, and his fingers grazed yours as he took one of the coffees. Heat rose to your cheeks, which you desperately tried to ignore. You couldn't remember the last time someone had such a strong affect on you. It made you feel... reckless and out of control. You both sipped on the coffee, and you found yourself watching him out of the corner of your eye. 

“Arthur?”

“Yeah?” he turned to look at you, his eyes shining as he took another sip. Something told you that you would never get tired of his eyes. 

“I… I like you. It’s been a long, _long_ time since someone kissed me. And I know I said it earlier… But, I like you. I know we’ve only known each other for a few weeks but... Somehow I feel like I've known you for a long time.” 

He froze, his cheeks turning red. “I like you too. And I wish we _had_ met a long time ago.”

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat. It had been so long since you’d been intimate with someone, but everything about this felt right. You wanted to take a chance, put yourself out there. You found yourself remembering the way he'd pressed you against the restaurant, they way he’d kissed you. You were suddenly desperate to feel that way again. 

“I should probably take a shower. Work was stressful today and I could use some relaxation.” 

His eyes widened and he quickly set down his mug. “Oh… that’s alright, I should probably…” 

“Head home?” You finished for him, and he nodded in agreement. 

“Yeah, you probably should.” You paused to work up the courage. “Or… you could join me in the shower?”


	6. A Permanent Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke makes a heartbreaking discovery beneath Arthur's clothes, and invites him to experience a few firsts with her. Life changes, and she gladly embraces it.

His eyes were the size of saucers. It felt like an hour passed, neither of you moving, waiting to see what the other would do. Finally, you set your mug on the table and stood up, offering your hand to him. Your smile spread from ear to ear when he took it and let you pull him to his feet. You drew him close, feeling him rest a hand on your waist. The air felt thick around you, heavy. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, feeling his rapid breaths against your skin. 

Bringing your nose to rub against his, you stared into his eyes and softly kissed him. He was unresponsive at first, but then his eyes closed and you felt his lips move against yours. Electricity flowed through your body, like you’d just taken a hit of the best kind of drug. 

He looked crestfallen when you suddenly pulled away from him, but you laughed and walked toward the hallway. Looking back at him with a teasing grin, you reached down and pulled your shirt up over your head, flinging it onto the couch. He visibly gulped, letting out a nervous laugh before stepping forward to follow you. You led him to the bathroom, which luckily was one of the few areas in your apartment that wasn't a mess. 

He stood awkwardly in the doorway and watched as you undid your pants and pulled them down your legs. “Brooke, I’ve never…” He started, the words getting caught in his throat. 

You didn’t care. You really, really didn’t. Reaching out, you undid the buttons of his shirt as he looked down and watched. You paused after undoing the final button, waiting until he looked back up at you. 

“Do you want to do this, Arthur? If you don’t, please tell me. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and if you would rather call it a night and-“ 

His lips were against yours, cutting you off. He smiled nervously at you, and you bit your lip happily. Gripping his shirt, you pulled it apart and started to lower it off his shoulders. That was when you noticed the bruises, so many bruises. 

“Arthur… what… who…” your eyes filled with tears, unable to stop it. They were dark blue, purple, and a sickening yellow. “Who did this to you?” You whispered, gently running your fingertips across his battered skin. 

He gripped your hand, and for a moment you were worried that you had hurt him. “Please… don’t worry about it. It’s not important, I took care of it. It doesn’t matter anymore. They don’t matter.” 

A tear trickled down your cheek, and he soothingly wiped it away. You let his shirt fall to the ground, trying to get ahold of yourself as more bruises came into view. You stepped closer to him, your forehead coming to rest against his chin. He kissed the top of your head, and your heart hurt for him. 

You felt his hand come between you, and realized he was undoing his pants. He let them fall to the floor, and you backed away to let him step out of them. 

You stood before each other, left only in undergarments and socks. You were prepared for him to be skinny, but god, you just wanted to sit him down and stuff food down his throat. He was beautiful, though. It ached to realize how badly you wanted to take care of him. Reaching down, you pulled off your socks one at a time, and he did the same. 

Never breaking eye contact, you reached behind and unclasped your bra. He was captivated as the straps slid down your shoulders and you let it join the pile of clothes on the floor. 

His jaw fell open, and you bit down on your tongue to try and calm your nerves. When you gripped both sides of your panties, he looked like he might faint. You hesitated for a moment, before pulling them down and letting him see all of you. He was frozen in place, but luckily still breathing.

Turning around, you turned on the water, giving it a moment to get warm before stepping in and letting it wash over you. You were worried he might have changed his mind and left, when the shower curtain moved and he stepped in next to you. 

Knowing how shy he was, you kept your gaze at eye level, knowing you would have a chance to get a glimpse of him at some point. You pulled him close, into the stream of water. His curls flattened against his skin, his eyes closed like he was afraid to open them. 

Letting out a giggle, you wrapped your arms around his torso and pressed your cheek against his chest, careful not to grip him too tightly, mindful of his bruises. “I don’t know what I'm doing, Arthur. I have to be honest. I've never done this kind of thing before, I feel so...free. This is crazy, completely and totally crazy." You started laughing and couldn’t stop, and you felt his chest rumble as he laughed too. 

Your words must have encouraged him, because he let out a massive breath and you could feel the stiff tension he was radiating begin to melt away. Raising your head, you giggled some more and he was looking at you like you’d hung the moon. “Here, trade places with me while I shampoo.” 

You slid past him, letting him stand directly under the water as you lathered up your hair. You turned around to face him, and his eyes moved quickly up your body, embarrassed to be caught checking you out. You laughed and stepped in close, letting the water hit your hair to rinse the suds away. 

The movement brought you in close, and you held his gaze for a moment until suddenly the shampoo got in your eyes. “Oh, fucking shit!” You shrieked playfully, and he laughed as you closed your eyes and waited for the suds to be gone. When you reopened your eyes, you were met with a sea of green. His eyes were glossy and fevered, and dropped to your mouth. 

His lips met yours with a new desperation, a sweetness that words couldn’t describe. You stepped in closer, and he sighed against your mouth when your breasts pressed against his chest. He breathed heavily against your lips, as if waiting. 

“Touch me.” You whispered. 

His eyes shot up to meet yours, and after a moment his hands came up to your shoulders, gently running his fingertips along your throat and jaw as he leaned in and kissed you again. He moaned when you opened your mouth and licked his bottom lip, and you took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. His tongue tentatively met yours, following your lead. You tilted your head, giving him more access. 

One of his hands lowered, brushing against your collarbone and gently caressing lower and lower. When his fingertips found the swell of your breast, he broke the kiss, letting his gaze fall down to your body. You could have sworn you heard a whimper as you gently took hold of his wrist, sliding his hand down until he fully enveloped the tender flesh. 

You sighed in relief, and he looked like he was in shock. Gently, he caressed you and brushed his fingers against the underside, testing the weight. When his fingers circled your nipple, you had to bite your lip to stop from moaning. He explored, pinching the peak and massaging it before moving to the other breast. 

As you watched his hand, breathless, you caught a glimpse of him. He was… big. Bigger than you would have expected. Anticipation buzzed through your veins, heat building in your core. You gasped when he suddenly caught a nipple in his mouth, surprised that he had taken the initiative to do so without your guidance. Your hands instantly came up and gripped his soaked hair, pressing him harder against you. He groaned, and the vibration against your hardened nipple made you want to cry out. 

He gently bit down, raising up a hand to knead the other breast. Your legs trembled, sensations overtaking you. Nobody had ever given this much attention to your body, never caring enough to bother. 

He switched, pressing kisses and nibbling at the other breast, gently kneading the other. His long hair was perfect to hold on to, and you hoped you weren’t pulling at it too hard. He kissed up your chest, pausing at your throat, pressing open mouthed kisses to the sensitive area. 

“Arthur.” You sighed, your head falling to the side. Tingles shot through every inch of your body. He sucked gently, and you felt an unmistakable wetness gathering between your legs. He kissed up to your jaw, then your cheek, until finally he was kissing your lips once again. This time it was him that deepened the kiss, and he tasted like cigarettes and coffee. 

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered against your lips. The tenderness in his voice made you want to cry, and you met his gaze, hoping that your eyes would communicate everything you wanted to say. Suddenly he was gently pressing against your shoulders, and you found yourself with your back pressed against the shower wall. Your breath caught in your throat as he held your gaze, and you felt his hand press against your stomach, ever so gently. It inched lower, closer and closer to where you needed him so desperately. 

You wanted to close your eyes, the sensations too powerful for you to handle. But you couldn’t, captivated by him. His fingers finally brushed against you, and his eyelids grew heavy. He stroked the soft skin, and finally between your folds. He brushed against your entrance, circling it and making your toes curl against the shower floor. 

“I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing… I’ve never…” The words stumbled out of him, almost as if he was apologizing. You gripped his hair and pushed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed in shame and frustration. 

“You’re making me feel so special, Arthur. So, good. I’ve loved every second.” You moved closer, pressing your lips against his ear. “Let me show you how.” You whispered, biting his ear lobe. 

Reaching down, you covered his hand with yours, pressing his fingers against your sex. You guided his middle finger until it was pushed against the bundle of nerves, and felt yourself throb, biting your lip to try and stay in control. “That’s the clit, okay? You want to rub it, very gently. It’s very sensitive and…” you trailed off into a groan as you guided his finger in a circular motion. “yes, just like that.” Your eyes closed and you leaned your head back against the wall, lost in sensation for a moment. 

“Ok, that’s…very good. Now, this…” You pushed his hand lower, back to your entrance. You opened your eyes and held his gaze, pressing his middle finger against the tight opening. You kissed him, still looking into his eyes as you guided him into your tight heat. His finger slid in to the knuckle and he gasped against your lips, a helpless look in his eyes. Gently, you directed his finger in and out, and then pressed his thumb against your clit. After a few moments, you helped him add another finger.

Unable to keep it together any longer, your head fell back against the wall. His mouth instantly found your throat, desperately kissing and biting at your skin. Your hand fell away and he took over, pressing his fingers into your depths over the over, his thumb circling your clit. Your body felt like it was on fire, and you couldn’t hold it in any longer. You gasped, moaned, made sounds that sounded foreign to your own ears. 

He licked the tender skin that he’d bitten, his fingers working you until your whole body felt like it was going to burst. “Arthur, don’t stop alright, don’t stop.” You cried out, heat spreading through your limbs. He bit down on you and you fell over the ledge, your muscles tightening around his fingers and clenching unbearably over and over. Your legs almost gave out from under you as you let out a high-pitched gasp, struggling to breathe through the pleasure. 

When it finally ended, you collapsed into him, feeling the aftershocks pulsing around his fingers. Your breaths were shaky, your eyes clenched shut, your face pressed against his chest and your hands clutching his shoulders. 

He slowly pulled his hand away, pressing it lightly against the small of your back. “Are you… alright?” He asked, unsure. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh at the ridiculousness of the question. Lifting your head to look at him, you knew you were smiling like an idiot but you couldn’t help it. 

“I’m… fantastic, actually.” Your legs felt like jello, and you laughed when you realized that the water had gone cold without either of you realizing it. Shutting the water off, you quickly wrapped up in your towel and grabbed a spare one from the cupboard. Arthur was shivering as you wrapped it around his shoulders, and quickly started to dry himself off. 

You ran from the bathroom, dove onto your bed, and climbed into the sheets. You had an extra blanket on your bed, since you got cold so easily. Arthur stopped in the doorway of your bathroom, watching you with amusement. You lifted up the blankets, a silent invitation. He gladly took it, climbing in and dropping his towel beside the bed. You gathered your towel and tossed it to the floor as well, pulling the blankets all the way up to your chin. 

He got settled, turning to face you, and rested his head on the pillow. His eyes traveled over every inch of your face, and you started to feel self-conscious. 

“Sometimes, you look at me like you don’t believe I’m real.” You whispered. 

His eyes fluttered shut, his brow slightly pinched. “That’s because sometimes, I worry that you’re not.” He quietly confessed. 

You scooted closer, hooking a leg around his and wrapping your arm over his torso. “Well, I am.” 

His eyes remained closed, so you just cuddled him. “I think you might be the only good thing that’s ever happened to me.” Each word sounded painful. The honesty in his words was brutal. 

You brushed his damp hair out of his face, and he finally opened his eyes. 

“People are so… I don’t understand why everyone is so… mean.” Before you could get a word in, he continued, “but not you, Brooke. You are so good.”

Guilt flooded through your veins. “Actually, I’m really not. I’m not good at all. I… try to be, I want to be… But I’m not, Arthur. Really. There’s things about me you don’t know.”

He paused, thinking carefully. “I don’t know your past, that’s true. But I know you right now, Brooke. And right now, with me, you are kind. You don’t make me feel… invisible, like everyone else does. You see me. You're good.”

His words were simple, yet they filled your soul with joy. Unable to find the words to thank him, instead you leaned forward and kissed him tenderly. He pulled you closer, eagerly deepening the kiss. 

It was then that you realized just how close you were, and felt his thickening cock resting against your stomach. Clearly, he felt it to, his eyes opening and looking at you desperately, unsure of himself. Rolling onto your back, you pulled him with you and guided him on top of you, his weight resting on his elbows. 

He instantly lowered his head, instinct taking over as he kissed you madly, lowering his hips subconsciously. The moment his cock pressed into the warmth between your thighs, his jaw dropped and his breathing intensified. 

His head fell into the crook of your neck, his hips pressing you into the mattress. He was hardening rapidly, and rubbing directly against your clit. Pleasure shot up your spine, a new gush of wetness collecting between your thighs and coating his dick. He thrust between your folds, moaning into your skin. Your senses were so heightened, you were pretty sure you could both get off just by continuing this. But you wanted more. “Arthur, I need you.” You pleaded, desperate to feel him. 

He reached between your bodies, quickly finding your pussy and pressing a finger to your entrance. “You’re so fucking wet.” He mumbled, and something about hearing him swear turned you on more than anything ever had. He circled your clit, continuing to press his rock-hard cock against you. You cried out, the overstimulation short circuiting your brain. 

“Arthur please, I can’t take it anymore.” You sobbed, begging him. His hand left your clit and he gripped his length, pumping it a few times before pressing the swollen head to your entrance. Carefully guiding himself, he started to press forward, pausing when his head entered your heat. He was trembling, his forehead pressed against your chest. You gently found his chin and pulled him up to you, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. It seemed to calm him, the trembling subsiding. 

His open mouth pressed against yours, he pushed forward ever so slowly. His size was considerable, and the stretch was delicious. “Jesus, you… you’re so tight…” he moaned against your mouth, and shuddered as your heat engulfed him. He paused halfway through, trying to get ahold of himself. When he finally bottomed out you’d never felt so full, stretched almost to the point of pain. You let out a soft cry, biting down on his bottom lip. 

He experimented, pulling out a bit before pressing back into you. His tongue breached your lips, and you eagerly accepted it, the kiss becoming wild quickly. He pumped his hips with more force, pressing against your cervix with each thrust. “This is… the most… amazing…” he trailed off, circling his hips and pressing you deeper into the mattress. You loved how vocal he was, and were eager to return the favor. 

“You fit so perfectly, Arthur… So perfectly inside me.” Your words caused him to shudder, and he slowed his pace, pressing a hand to your throat and holding your gaze. The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming; looking into his expressive green eyes, seeing the affect that you had on him, the feeling of him taking you with slow and steady thrusts.

Something changed in that moment, you could sense it. Something inside of you shifted, something that felt permanent. It was so powerful that you felt a flicker of pain, the fear that after this moment, life would never be the same. Like part of you didn't belong to yourself anymore.

He must have noticed a change in your expression, his thrusts slowing even more and he gently brushed your hair away from your face. “Brooke… Are you alright?”

Tears filled your eyes, but the fear was gone, replaced by an overwhelming sense of love. You knew it was impossible, you knew it was crazy. But you accepted it, knowing that it was too soon to say it, but knowing that eventually you would tell him. So instead you smiled, letting him wipe away a rogue tear from your cheek. “I’m perfect, Arthur. This is perfect.” 

You pulled him back into a kiss, and then pressed your hands into his backside, encouraging him to drive into you. He obliged, quickening his pace, and you lightly scratched at his back, feeling the sheen of sweat on his skin. His breathing quickened, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, lifting your hips against him. The new angle made him groan, and you whimpered as he hit that sensitive spot deep inside you. 

He surprised you by reaching a hand down, feeling around your entrance as he plunged wildly inside you, touching where you were joined. You gripped at your own hair, biting your lip and trying not to lose it. When he pressed a finger against your clit, you gasped, and he swallowed it with a kiss. 

You found yourself panting his name, the climax building within you as he repeatedly hit your cervix and circled your clit like you’d taught him. “Brooke… I’m gonna… I can’t stop it.” He cried out, and you tugged at his hair, biting down on his bottom lip as you hurled over the ledge. 

You came hard enough to see stars, the waves crashing through you as you tightened your legs around his hips, relishing the sensation of him driving into you as your muscles tightened around him. His hand fell from your clit and he gripped your ass, lifting you off of the mattress to drive into you deeper. Your head fell back, your jaw slack as the shockwaves kept hitting you. 

Arthur cried out, and you felt him release deep inside you. He held himself there, grinding against you and savoring the tightness that surrounded him as he worked himself through the climax. Your orgasm had finally died down, and you held his head to your chest, breathing deeply as he tenderly lowered your hips onto the mattress and collapsed on top of you, still gently moving inside you.

Your chest heaving, your toes curled, you felt like you were floating on air and could live in this moment forever. Gradually, Arthur’s hips stopped moving, and he pressed a wet kiss to the side of your breast. You could feel him quivering, and gently played with his hair as he recovered. 

Minutes later, you were still in the same position but he’d turned his head to the side, resting it against a breast, brushing his fingertips along the other one. You twirled a lock of his hair in your fingers, and quietly rubbed his back. For a moment, you thought he might have fallen asleep. 

“Arthur?” 

He mumbled an incoherent response against your chest, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at how adorable he was. “As comfortable as this is, I don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night unable to breath.”

He immediately lifted his weight off of you, his eyes half open. “Sorry, sorry.” 

You pulled him up until he was at eye level and he collapsed beside you, an arm and leg clumsily hung across your body as he cuddled up against you. Turning to face him, you smiled at the peaceful look on his face. He was falling asleep, mouth slightly ajar and eyelids completely relaxed. You let yourself stare at him for a moment, pressed a kiss to the corner of this mouth, and curled up into his chest.


	7. Secrets Shared and a Moment Captured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their peaceful morning revolves around coffee and stories about the past. Arthur drops some surprising news.

The next thing you knew, your eyes were opening to light streaming through the window. Arthur's chin was resting against the top of your head, an arm still wrapped around you. You sighed in content, yawning as you wondered what time it was. The sudden urge to pee hit you, and you gently rolled out from under his arm.

When you returned he was sitting up, stretching his arms and yawning. He must have heard you approach, suddenly glancing up and smiling at you. “Good morning” you said, a sudden bout of shyness hitting as you realized you were naked in daylight. He didn’t seem to mind, his gaze traveling un and down your body without shame. 

You quickly jumped back into the bed, covering your lower half with the bedding to feel a bit less exposed. You ran your fingers through his hair, and the look he gave you was one of pure affection. “Did you sleep well?” you asked, brushing your finger against the skin behind his ear. 

It took a moment for your question to sink in, but finally he cleared his throat. “I don’t remember the last time I slept that well.” His voice was raspy and adorable. 

He continued to stare at you softly, lifting his hand and sweeping his thumb across your bottom lip. You leaned into him, kissing him tenderly. “You want a coffee?” you whispered against him, pulling away to climb out of bed and slip on an oversized t-shirt. 

“Yes, please.” 

You rubbed your eyes as you made your way to the kitchen, dumping out the leftover from last night and getting a fresh pot started. You went back to the bedroom, and noticed Arthur holding something and looking at it intensely. 

“Are these your parents?” 

The question caught you off guard, and you recognized the framed family photo that sat on your bedside table. You bit your lip and climbed onto the bed next to him. “Yeah, that’s them. Everyone tells me I look just like my mom.” 

“You really do. They look nice. Do they live in the city?” The question was completely innocent on his part, but it made your heart ache. 

“No, they… They died, about ten years ago.” His eyes darted up at you, instant regret filling his features. 

“Oh… You don’t have to talk about it, Brooke.” 

“No, no it’s alright. It was a long time ago. A car accident.” You paused, unsure if you wanted to say any more than that. It’d been years since you’d even said their names. “Jane and Ron. They were.. Well, we hadn’t talked in almost a year when they passed away.”

“Why didn’t you talk?” 

“It was…complicated. I made choices in life that they didn’t agree with, went down a different path than the one they wanted for me. They tried hard to understand me, and they were always loving… They got me into the best schools, tried to find me a rich man to marry. But it wasn't me. I got adolescent and stupid and acted out in rebellion for years. We just had different ideas about life, and couldn’t seem to find a compromise. I moved across the country to Gotham, and they were always busy with the next big thing in the big city. California. Then one day I got a phone call, and they were gone.” 

He was quiet next to you, looking back down at the photograph. “Who’s the other little girl?” 

Your shoulders tensed out of reflex. “That’s my older sister. She’s… we don’t talk.”

You could see him chewing on the inside of his cheek, wanting to ask but not sure if he should. 

“She was always the golden child. She went to all the right schools, found a handsome rich man to marry. One of my dad’s colleagues, actually. She was everything they wanted in a kid. After they died… I flew home for their funeral. I figured I owed it to them. She was bitter that I hadn’t been around to help with preparations, then bitter that I had bothered to show up at all. I had to be home the day after the funeral, back in Gotham since I couldn’t afford any more time off. She didn’t even say goodbye to me. 

Then a few years later, the only grandparent that I had a relationship with passed away, so I flew home again. After the funeral, all the bitterness exploded. According to her, our parents were embarrassed by me. They didn’t want me around to humiliate them in front of their friends. Their rich, snobby friends that I couldn’t stand. They thought I was out of control, irresponsible and hated having to deal with me. _Why do you think they stopped talking to you?_ I left and haven't heard from her since. That was five years ago.” You shook your head bitterly. “I know my parents loved me, they really tried. I wasn’t easy, and they lived a lifestyle that I didn’t fit into.”

He nodded his head in understanding, looking at the picture for a few more moments before turning to look at you and offering a simple but genuine “I’m sorry.”

You smiled sadly, shrugging your shoulders. “Don’t be. That’s life, right?” He didn’t respond, just set the picture back onto the nightstand. Your heart caught a bit when he noticed and picked up the bottle of pills you always kept within reach. 

“Are these your Celexa?” 

You cleared your throat nervously. “Oh uh, no, those are just some other pills I take every once and a while.”

He raised an eyebrow, reading the label. “This is oxycodone.” 

You laughed nervously. “Yeah, like I said, I only use them once in a while. I get bad headaches and back pain sometimes, usually after a long day at work.” 

He studied the bottle for a few more moments, before shrugging and setting it back on the table. You let out a silent breath of relief. He brushed his hair behind his ear nervously. “Yeah, I know how that is. I get these medications, but I don’t think any of them really work. Or maybe they do work, and they’re supposed to make me feel…” He trailed off, rubbing his forehead. 

“Which medications are you taking?” You flinched at your own question, worried he wouldn’t want to talk about something so personal. 

He laughed, looking up at the ceiling as if trying to recall. Then he listed them, most of them medications that you didn’t recognize. You felt an odd pang in your gut as you realized that he was taking seven medications. Seven. You flashed back to the first time you ran into him at the Pharmacy, the multiple bottles that he picked up. It probably shouldn’t shock you that he was taking that many - you were all too familiar with the way most doctors overprescribed medication, trying to find the one that worked. Not wanting to make him uncomfortable, you offered a lighthearted sigh. “Sometimes I think doctors are just making it all up as they go along.” 

He chuckled softly, and you suddenly remembered the coffee. Hopping out of the bed, you quickly poured too cups, offering him one and taking a sip from your own. As you watched him, resting against the headboard with an adorable case of bedhead and the sunlight washing over him, you suddenly had an idea.

“Can I draw you?” you blurted out, suddenly desperate to capture the moment. His eyes widened and he choked on the gulp he’d just taken. “Uh… what?” 

You hurried out to the living room, searching through the piles until you found your sketchbook. Rushing back, you sat on the far edge of your bed. “Just trust me, alright. You don’t have to do anything, just sit there, drink your coffee, and look pretty. This won’t take long, I promise.” 

Before he had a chance to say anything, you were already getting started, pencil in hand and eyes darting between him and the paper. He shyly covered his face for a moment, before relaxing and mumbling “fuck” under his breath. 

You grinned mischievously, laser-focused on the task at hand. His eyes would flicker towards you every few seconds, watching you with curiosity. “Do you… do this often?” 

“Yeah, sometimes. I like to sketch people on the bus or at the park, usually.”

“Sketch them doing what?”

You hummed, trying to think of how to explain it. “Well, it depends. Sometimes I just like the way someone looks. Sometimes they look out the window and I can see them pondering life, and I wonder what their story is. Sometimes I…” you felt a blush heat your cheeks, suddenly realizing how embarrassing it was to say this out loud. “I like to make up backstories for them, you know, I imagine where they grew up, stuff like that. And sometimes at the park, people will be doing the most bizarre things. I saw this woman one time sitting on a bench with a box of dolls. She was there for hours, using all these weird tools on them. I think she was some sort of professional doll fixer-upper, maybe in her spare time. I like drawing people like that. It helps me feel less… hostile towards the world. Reminds me that most people, deep down, are good... I tend to forget that.” 

You looked up from the paper, trying to get the lines of his face just right. 

“It’s good that you see people. Most people don’t see me.” He said, and you squinted your eyes at him in a silent accusation. He laughed. “I said most, didn’t I? You’re different.” 

He seemed like he wanted to say more, but he took another sip of coffee instead. You sat in comfortable silence for a long time, until you were finally happy with the sketch. The likeness was exactly what you were going for. His deep eyes, intense eyebrows, soft hair, holding a steaming cup of coffee and looking out the window. 

Smiling, you uncrossed your legs, eagerly scooting over until your shoulder pressed against his and you held it out for him to see. You could hear his breath catch in his throat, and you felt a rush of pride. “I mostly wanted to capture the feeling of this moment... contentment.”

He was blushing, and licked his lips. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

“You like it?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “I love it.”

You were beaming. “Do you mind if I hang it on my wall?” 

He looked shocked. “You really want to?” 

You nodded, resting your forehead into the crook of his neck. “This might be my favorite sketch I’ve ever done.” 

He pressed his cheek against your hair. “Ok, you can hang it.” 

You squeezed his thigh, and kissed the top of his shoulder. “Good.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the small alarm clock next to your bed. “Oh shit!” you exclaimed, jumping to your feet and opening your closet. 

“What is it?” Arthur exclaimed, alarmed. 

“I lost track of time completely. I have to be at work in two hours. Oh, and you have your standup routine tonight! Are you working before you go to the comedy club? I don’t even know what you do, actually.” He was weirdly silent for a while, and you looked at him over your shoulder to see him playing with his fingernails, a faraway look on his face. 

“No, I don’t have to worry about that anymore.” He finally responded. 

Your brow furrowed at his odd response. “What do you mean?”

He ran his fingers through his hair, reaching beside the bed and grabbing his cigarettes. Quickly lighting one, he took a long drag and let the smoke billow out of his mouth. “They fired me the day before yesterday.” He said, oddly nonchalant. 

“Arthur... why didn’t you tell me? I’m so sorry…” You dropped the pants you were holding, leaning across the bed to squeeze his knee. “What happened?”

His leg started shaking a bit, his eyes distant as he took another long drag. “Some coworkers were telling lies about me to our boss. They’ve never liked me.” He shrugged bitterly. “The boss believed them.” 

The look in his eyes worried you, and you could tell there was more to the story. “What did you do?” 

“I didn’t _do_ anything.” He grumbled. 

You were taken aback by his tone, but laughed to lighten the mood. “No Arthur, I mean like what did you do? What was the job?”

He took another drag, already nearly finished with the cigarette. “Oh. Sorry.” His eyes softened a bit, back to the Arthur you recognized. “I was a party clown. I’d go to the hospital and make kids happy, that kind of thing.” He closed his eyes, and you could sense how much the job had meant to him. You brushed your thumb across his knee, hoping to provide some sort of comfort. 

“I’m sorry Arthur. I can imagine you being good at that job. It’s their loss, but something else will come up alright? Maybe you can get a gig at this club you’re performing at tonight.” 

He instantly opened his eyes, hope and excitement filling them. “That’s what I was thinking, too.”

You smiled encouragingly at him, then got back up to finish putting together your clothes for the day. 

“It’s probably a blessing in disguise, you getting fired. With all this clown nonsense going on right now.” 

A long silence followed, and you could hear him exhaling smoke. “What?” 

“You haven’t heard? Three guys were murdered on the subway just the other night. They say it was some guy wearing a clown mask, maybe pissed at them for working for that rich dude Thomas Wayne. Something like that, I’m not sure. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it, it’s been all over the news and it's all anyone can talk about.”

You slid on underwear, then your work pants. You headed into the bathroom, finding your bra where it had fallen last night and quickly putting it on. When you came out of the bathroom, you did a double take to find that Arthur was no longer in the bed. 

Suddenly he appeared, walking in from the living room and past you into the bathroom. He quickly pulled on his own underwear, finding his pants and shirt strewn across the floor. 

“Don’t let me rush you, you don’t have to leave yet, really.” You assured him, but he took another drag and carried on getting dressed. Was that a new cigarette in his mouth? 

“No, it’s fine. I just remembered that I need to check on my mother, and I have an appointment with my therapist before my performance tonight, too.” 

“Well both of those things take priority, so I hereby free you from my presence.” You joked, waiting for him to laugh too. You pulled on your shirt, checking to see if he’d heard you. He was next to your bed, putting on his socks and slipping into his jacket. 

“Hey, is everything alright?” You asked softly, confused by his distance. 

His brow pinched, he still didn’t look up at you as he nodded his head. “Yeah, of course. Everything’s fine.”

Unease shot through your veins and you closed the distance until you were just a step away. “You… you don’t regret last night, do you?” you wanted to punch yourself in the face for sounding so unbelievably pitiful.

The stiffness in his limbs instantly loosened, and he met your gaze with such intensity that it took your breath away. “No, I would never regret that. It was the best night of my whole life.”

You were mortified to feel a tear escape down your cheek, instantly looking down at your feet. He suddenly pressed himself against you, wrapping you tightly in his arms. You made a humiliating sound that resembled a hiccup, embracing him in return. “I’m sorry” he murmured into your hair.

You weren’t sure what exactly had happened, you were just glad that the gentle Arthur you’d gotten to know had returned. You held him for a long time, not wanting to let go. You finally did, reluctantly. His mouth quirked up in a partial smile, and you leaned in to press your lips to his. It was nothing like your kisses last night, but it was enough to put you at ease. He closed his eyes partway through, pressing his forehead to yours and breathing deeply. 

“I have to go, Brooke.” He whispered apologetically. You nodded against him, allowing him to step away. You followed him to the front doorway, watching him slip his shoes on. 

“Listen, I’ll see if I can get out of work 10 minutes early tonight, alright? I know it’s not much, but I really want to catch some of your act. I want to be there to support you, even if it’s only for the last bit.”

He nodded his head and stood up, putting his hands in his pockets and looking awkward, like he didn’t know what to say. It reminded you that this was his first time spending the night with a girl, which made your heart melt. 

You initiated, stepping close and reaching up to brush his hair out of his face. He lit up, but you could tell he was trying to keep his cool. 

You pressed a kiss to his lips, opening the door to let him out. He turned around, stopping in the doorway. “I’ll see you later then?” 

You smiled, leaning against the door. “Absolutely. I’ll get there as soon as I can.” 

He grinned, and started walking down the hallway. He’d only gotten a few steps when you called out his name and he paused, looking at you over his shoulder. 

You bit your lip, hoping to convey how deeply you felt. “It was the best night of my whole life, too.” 

All of his effort to keep his cool melted away, and his face lit up like a billboard. “Thank you, Brooke.” 

You waved, watching him disappear from sight as you closed the door to your apartment. As soon as it was shut, you sighed, pressing your back against the wood and closing your eyes. You relived the entire night, unable to keep the giddy smile off of your face. Locking the door, you returned to your bedroom. You sat on the bed, wishing you could go back in time. Your hand brushed against something, and you realized it was your drawing. You studied it, studied him. It was your best work yet, without a doubt. 

There was no sign of stress, no shaking legs, no nervous ticks. No episode of painful laughter. He was completely at peace, and you had somehow captured it all in the sketch. 

You quickly found a tack on your desk, and pinned it up on the wall beside the bed. You admired it for a few seconds more, before finally forcing yourself to pull away and finish getting ready for work.


	8. I'm Not Ready for it to End Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke and Arthur go to coffee after his performance at Pogo's, and she learns some surprising information about his therapist.

*** Later That Day ***

“Shit, shit shit.” You moaned under your breath, as you turned the corner and saw the bus already paused at the stop. You broke into a run, your heart sinking as you realized you were too far away to be noticed. The doors closed, and you pressed your palms against your eyes in frustration as you listened to it drive away. 

“Fuck. Fuck!” You felt your eyes growing wet, knowing that you wouldn’t make it in time to see Arthur’s performance. You’d have to wait fifteen minutes for the next bus to arrive, and by the time you got to Pogo’s it would be at least 8:45. You were going to miss it, and you wanted to scream in anger. You walked the rest of the way to the bus stop, miserably collapsing to sit on the curb. 

“Fucking customers.” You cursed under your breath. Everything was going as planned, the night was slowing down, and you were prepared to catch the early bus. Everything had fallen apart after you messed up an assholes bill. Sam had the night off, when normally she would have stepped in so that you could leave early. 

You clenched your jaw tightly, praying that the bus would be running early. 

20 minutes later, you were on the verge of tears as a bus finally arrived and you climbed through the doors as they swung open.

You’d remembered your watch today, and nervously looked at the time. 8:30. You closed your eyes in defeat, knowing there was no chance. By the time you finally found Pogo’s, it was almost 9:00. You rushed inside, into the dark red ambient lighting. People were seated all around, murmuring to each other. The stage was empty, and there was no sign of Arthur. You tried not to panic, sure that he was somewhere backstage. You spotted a dimly lit hallway on the other side of the room, but you couldn’t tell if it was the backstage entrance or not. 

Discouraged, there was nothing for you to do besides go back outside and sit against the front of the building to wait. Minutes later a few people started trickling out of the club, and you watched, alert, making sure none of them were Arthur. 

A young couple walked past, snickering to each other. “Fucking creepy” you overheard. They kept walking, laughing hysterically.

“Brooke?” 

You looked up, stumbling to your feet. “Arthur! I’m so, _so_ sorry.” You instantly wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him as tightly as you could. “I tried to get here in time, I really did. I’m so sorry I missed it.” 

You felt his hand rest against your head, softly running his fingers through your hair. “It’s okay, I promise.” He assured you, and you finally pulled away to look up at him. 

He looked… happy. That was a very, very good sign. 

“How did it go?!” You asked eagerly.

He grinned, eyes twinkling. “They loved it. I really wish you could have seen it, they were all laughing, at _my_ jokes. It was amazing.” He sounded like he’d won the lottery, and you let out a massive sigh of relief. 

“Arthur, I am so happy for you, I mean it. I really wish I could have seen it. Next time, I won’t miss it.” 

He surprised you be kissing you passionately, and you leaned into it, basking in his cheerfulness.

“Let’s go get a coffee to celebrate, alright?” 

He nodded in agreement, holding your hand in his. Not long after you were sat opposite each other at a table, sipping coffee and talking about his grand ideas. “My mom and I, we watch the Murray Franklin show all the time. I’ve even got some of his shows recorded on tapes at home.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, an idea coming to mind. “I’ve only seen it a few times, maybe we can watch it together sometime. You should send some of your jokes to the show. I’m sure they have some sort of mailing address you could send them to.” His eyes grew so wide that you burst into a fit of laughter. “I’m serious, you really should!” you persisted. 

He wiped at a random crumb on the table, his brows raised in consideration. “Yeah… yeah, maybe I will.” 

You ordered a donut, breaking off half of it and offering it to him. He dipped it in his coffee before taking a bite, and you did the same. You laughed and wiped sugar off of his bottom lip, watching his cheeks turn pink. 

“You know, I’ve been meaning to tell you that you seem really good. I mean, more comfortable, or… confident.” His legs didn’t shake nervously much at all anymore, and you hadn’t witnessed a single laughing fit since the first night at the Pharmacy. He carried himself differently. You’d known him for less than a month, but could still sense that he was far more content with himself than he used to be. The thought made your heart burst with delight. 

He looked flustered, and his only response was a small “really?” 

“Yeah, really. Which reminds me, how’d your appointment go?” When he didn’t answer you clarified, “the one with your therapist. Do you want to stop at a Pharmacy before we catch the bus, pick up any prescriptions?” 

His eyebrow quirked up and his lips twitched. “No, I don’t need to stop. I’m not meeting with her anymore, actually.” 

“Oh, are you switching therapists?” 

He shook his head, eyes looking at the table. “No, I don’t think so.” 

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean? You’re not gonna meet with _anyone_?”

His lips pursed slightly. “They cut funding. I can’t.” 

You froze, exhaling lowly. “Oh… fuckers.” 

He chuckled faintly and you sat in silence for a moment.

“What about your medications?”

“What about them?” 

“How will you get them?” 

“I won’t.” He confirmed nonchalantly. 

“Arthur…” there had to be some other option. You grit your teeth as an idea came to you. “I’ve got this guy, at work. I get my… headache pills from him… he might be able to… you know…” 

“No, that’s alright. Like I said before, I don’t think they’ve been helping anyway.” He shrugged, finishing off his coffee before looking out the window. “I don’t think the therapist helped, either. She never really listened to me.” 

You sighed in disappointment. “Yeah, most of them don’t. I think they try to help but don’t really know how to. Making it all up as they go along and all that.” 

He nodded, rubbing his mouth, looking far away. You reached across the table and brushed your thumb across his knuckles affectionately. He looked at you and offered a small smile in return. 

Something suddenly caught his attention at the window, and his whole body turned in the seat. Confused, you followed his gaze to a pair of men walking outside. Their faces were turned towards the diner as they slowly traveled the sidewalk, and your breath caught in your throat. 

They were wearing clown masks, animatedly pointing at something down the street. You flashed back to a newspaper you’d glimpsed earlier that day. _Killer Clown Still on the Loose_. Chills crept up your spine. You quickly looked away from them, catching a glimpse of Arthur. He was smiling animatedly, from ear to ear. 

“Do you know them?” you asked in confusion, pulling him out of his daze.

“What? Oh, no I don’t. Sorry, I was just…” he coughed a bit, the smile disappearing. 

He was interrupted by the bill being brought to your table, the clowns quickly forgotten. Once you’d finished paying, you stepped outside. Arthur lit a cigarette, letting out a puff of smoke and leaning his head back to look at the sky as you walked casually alongside him. 

“We should catch the bus, it’s starting to get late.” You admitted regretfully.

He looked down at his shoes. “I’m not ready for it to end, yet.” 

You winced, feeling the exact same way. “I’m not either, and I wish I could invite you over tonight. But I’ve got an appointment with a…_lady_… doctor tomorrow early in the morning.”

He nodded, disappointment in his eyes. He took a long drag. “Yeah. My mom was pretty upset with me for missing Murray last night, so I should probably get home to check on her and catch the show.” 

“Maybe tomorrow? I’ll be free all evening… and all night.” You winked at him playfully. He grinned, smoke billowing out into the cold air. 

“Unless you’re tired of me, that is.” You teased, poking him in the shoulder. 

He chortled, rolling his eyes before looking at you in that way that you loved, like you’d hung the moon and stars. You were drawn in to him like a magnet, and he watched you move in closer. Your lips pressed to his tenderly, and he closed his eyes, dropping his cigarette to embrace your head in his hands as he deepened the kiss. 

The world seemed to come to a stop around you, silent and empty. You slipped your hands up and inside the warmth of his jacket, rubbing his back over his shirt. He sighed happily, lowering one is his hands to press against the small of your back, pulling you closer. You complied, stepping into him until every inch of you was pressed firmly against him. 

Those words almost fell from your lips, again. The emotion was so strong, and you were so sure of it. But nerves got the best of you, fear that it was too soon, that he didn’t feel the same way yet. So instead you focused on his soft lips, and the sensation of his body pressed against yours. 

“You’re beautiful.” He murmured. 

The bus ride was quiet, your head resting in the crook of his neck as he gently played with your fingers. Your bus stop approached far too quickly, and you turned and pressed a chaste kiss to his throat. 

“Tomorrow, alright?” 

He smiled, nodding in agreement as he squeezed your hand. “Yeah, tomorrow. I’ll come by your apartment around four.” 

You kissed him, knowing that tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. You felt the bus come to a halt, and you regretfully pulled away from him to stand up. His gaze held yours and he gently waved. “Goodnight, Brooke.” 

“Goodnight, Arthur.” You replied, climbing off the bus. His eyes followed you through the window, until the bus pulled away and he disappeared from sight. Longing filled your veins as you turned to walk the rest of the way to your building. 

A quiet sense of dread settled in your gut, interrupting your blissful thoughts. The silence of the night crowded your senses, suddenly disturbing instead of serene. Your pace quickened, and when you finally reached your apartment you quickly locked the door. The dread was still there, like a shadow. You instantly swallowed down your pills and finished a glass of wine, successfully drowning it out enough to fall into a restless sleep.


	9. Please Don't Watch the Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur doesn't show the following day, Brooke makes a trip to his apartment. She discovers that tragedy has struck the Fleck family, and that Arthur is nowhere to be found.

*** The Next Day ***

Waking up seemed far more difficult than usual, groaning as you shut off your alarm. You weren’t used to waking up this early, since you always worked late in the day. You quickly got yourself ready, catching the bus and heading into the city. Your appointment ended, and you stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few things. You’d gotten your paycheck the other day and had a bit of extra money in the bank, so you bought spaghetti, salad, garlic bread, and a fancy bottle of red wine. You practically skipped to the bus stop, eager to get home and start preparing a nice meal to surprise Arthur. 

You turned on the radio, dancing around the kitchen in nothing but a t-shirt and panties. By four o’clock, you had the noodles cooked and the salad mixed. You set them both in the fridge, figuring you could finish preparing once Arthur arrived. You cleaned up the apartment, and set up your coffee table as nicely as possible. Content, you poured yourself a glass of wine and sat down, turning on the TV to pass the time. Before you knew it, you’d finished off your second glass, and restlessly gazed at the clock on your wall. It was now five thirty, and there was no sign of Arthur. That familiar feeling of dread had settled in your gut, and you realized that you didn’t even have his phone number to call his apartment. 

Maybe he’d gotten caught up with something at home, and had lost track of time. Biting at your nails, you decided it wouldn’t hurt to go check on him. You knew where his apartment building was, just a few blocks away. Your overwhelming eagerness to spend the evening with him got the best of you, and you quickly bundled up and turned off the TV. You braved the cold, thankful for the glasses of wine that warmed your blood. After a few blocks, you reached the long staircase that led to his building. By the time you made it to the top, you were actually sweating a bit and had to catch your breath. You couldn’t imagine walking up those every day, wondering how Arthur did it. 

You opened the door to his building, pausing as a realization hit you. “Shit,” you grumbled. You didn’t know which apartment was his. The mailboxes caught your attention, and you eagerly stepped up to them, scanning the last names until you spotted it. _P Fleck_. Penny. Sure enough, there was his room number. Smirking with pride, you quickly got on the elevator until you reached his floor. Anticipation filled you as you studied each room number, finally approaching his. You paused for a moment, pressing your ear against the door. You were met with silence, much to your disappointment. You gently lifted your hand and knocked briefly, but still nothing.

“Arthur?” You called, trying not to be too noisy. You knocked louder, thinking he might not have heard you. 

“Can I help you?” A voice called from behind you, making you jump. You turned and found a woman around your age standing just down the hall, locking her apartment door behind her. She was gorgeous, dark skinned with curly hair piled on top of her head. She walked closer, probably heading to the elevator. 

“Oh, well I was actually trying to see if my friend is home.” 

She looked a bit surprised, glancing at the room number as if she recognized it. “Well I haven’t seen the guy, Arthur I think?” 

“yeah, that’s him. He hasn't been around today?”

She shook her head, a concerned look crossing her face. “No, I haven’t seen him at all, but the paramedics took his mom to the hospital just an hour ago or so. I heard the commotion and watched it happen.” 

Your heart sank through the floor. “What? This just happened? And you didn’t see Arthur?”

She shook her head in an unspoken apology. “Nope, just her. I’m not sure what happened, I wish I could tell you more but that’s all I saw. They keep to themselves most of the time.” She shrugged, sympathy in her eyes. She glanced at her watch, and quickly started down the hallway. “I’m so sorry, I’ve gotta pick up my daughter. I hope you find him, though.” 

You tried to say thank you, but your throat had gone dry and you couldn’t get the words out. What could possibly have happened? All this time you were preparing for a fun evening, had Arthur been taking care of his mother at the hospital? You felt sick suddenly, the glasses of wine and pills you’d taken earlier suddenly not sitting well. You weren’t sure how long you stood there, at a loss. There were so many hospitals in the area, so many places he could be. Was he even with his mother? Did he know that she was sick? What if he’d gotten caught up with something else and didn’t even know she was in the hospital? The possibilities were endless, and you felt useless.

You sat with your back against his door for half an hour, the sense of dread growing and growing. You knew you couldn’t stay there all night, and it was past six o’clock now and getting dark outside. You’d go back to your apartment, drink some more wine, and eventually he would knock on your door. 

You slowly stood up, taking the elevator back down and miserably returning to your own apartment. You poured another glass of wine, filling it almost to the brim. Wrapping yourself in your softest blanket, you curled up on the couch and flipped on the TV to try and distract yourself. You glanced at the clock, realizing that the Murray show was probably going to be on anytime. _My mom and I, we watch the Murray Franklin show all the time._ His voice echoed in your mind, and without hesitation you flipped through the channels until you found the right one. 

Sure enough, the commercial announced that the Murray show was on next, and you settled into the couch, getting comfortable. Once it started, you began to feel slightly better. You wondered if Arthur was somewhere, watching the show too. It made you feel closer to him, somehow. 

You even found yourself laughing a bit, as Murray interviewed an actor you didn't recognize. It wasn't the best thing you'd ever watched, but knowing that Arthur enjoyed it so much was enough for you. As the show started to wind down, Murray joked about the garbage strike. “He says, and I’m not kidding, Billy says _so where we gonna get all our garbage from?_” You chuckle, feeling warm from the now-half-empty glass of wine.

“And finally, in a world where everyone thinks they can do my job, we got this videotape from Pogo’s comedy club right here in Gotham. Here’s a guy who thinks if you just keep laughing, it will somehow make you funny. Check out this joke.”

You spit out your wine, instantly recognizing Arthur on the screen. Your jaw dropped, you jumped up from the couch, spilling even more wine. “Oh my god, oh my god!” you shrieked. 

The sound of laughter burst from the TV speakers, and you covered your mouth, smiling from ear to ear as you watched. Arthur was laughing into his arm onscreen, and suddenly your smile fell. The laughter continued, Arthur’s face clenched as his laughter seemed to choke him.

Your hand still covered your mouth, frozen in shock as you realized what was happening. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, and the television sounded muffled. “I hated school as a kid. But, my mother would always say, you should enjoy it, one day you’ll have to _work_ for a living. No I won’t Ma, I’m gonna be a comedian!” He managed to get out, before bursting into another fit of painful laughter. 

You were on the verge of passing out, black spots appearing before your eyes as you listened to Murray mock Arthur mercilessly. You practically collapsed backwards onto the couch, tears filling your eyes as you blankly stared at nothing in particular. 

“It’s funny, when I was a little boy, and told people I was gonna be a comedian, everyone laughed at me. Well, no one’s laughing now.” His voice sounded far away, a thick fog of shock clouding your mind. The audience cheered onscreen, as tears streamed down your face and your heart shattered. You dropped the glass of wine entirely, sobbing into your hands as the ache became unbearable. Eventually the heaving sobs subsided, and your mind raced a million miles a second as endless questions began their assault. 

When had that happened? Surely that wasn’t just the other night, it couldn’t have been. You’d seen him after the performance, his beaming smile, he’d told you how fantastic his act had gone. You’d celebrated with him, feeling immeasurably proud. Something had finally gone right for him, you’d been so sure of it. Why hadn’t he told you that he'd suffered an episode? 

You replayed his jokes in your mind, hearing his voice on repeat. The audience reaction haunted you, the cruel way they all laughed at him. You hated yourself for the thought that crossed your mind, _did he think they were laughing with him, not at him?_

Your head dropped into your lap and you screamed into the blanket. Had he been suffering from episodes this whole time, and you just didn’t know it? Numb, you slowly brought your legs onto the couch, turned onto your side and lay your head against the armrest. Your knees curled up to your chest, and you wished you could make yourself small enough to just disappear. It felt like the world had collapsed, everything you thought you knew about Arthur now filled with doubt. 

_My mom was pretty upset with me for missing Murray last night, so I should probably get home to check on her and catch the show._ His words from yesterday popped into your mind, and another tear slipped down the side of your face as you made a silent prayer. 

Please, Arthur. Please don’t watch the show.


	10. An Empty Shell, a Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur makes a shocking return, leaving Brooke with more questions than answers and the terrifying realization that his secrets are bigger than she could have imagined.

*** Two Days Later ***

You pushed the salad around the plate miserably. In the next room, your coworkers laughed about god knows what. 

“Are you ever actually gonna eat that?” Sam called from behind you. You set your fork down, staring at the lettuce impassively. She sat next to you, resting her head in her chin and squinting her eyes. “Okay, out with it. What’s wrong. You look like the poster child for sleep deprivation.”

You laughed bitterly, scrubbing at your eyes, the struggle to hold them open draining your non-existent energy. “I’ve just had a rough few days, that’s all.” 

“No shit?” She raised an eyebrow at you, wordlessly pressing you to go on.

“I met a guy.” 

“Oh well there’s your first mistake.” You glared at her, and she held up her hands in surrender. “Ok, I’m done, I promise. You have my undivided attention.”

You weren’t sure how to start, or how much to tell her. “He’s really great. Sweet, quiet, shy, understanding, attractive, and just… he has a good heart. He’s had a hard life and he’s been struggling, but all this time I thought things were getting better. Now it looks like he's been keeping things from me.” Pausing, you hesitate before correcting yourself. “Actually, I don’t believe he’s keeping things from me. Not on purpose, at least. But all the progress I thought he’d made…I’m afraid none of it was real, that he’s been falling apart this entire time and hiding it. Maybe he just didn’t want me to worry about him, but it feels… bigger than that. And now he’s gone, and I’m worried that he’s going through… I don’t know, a regression of some sort?” 

Sam’s expression had turned serious, and she hummed in thought. “That’s difficult.” She paused, dropping her usual sarcasm for a moment of sincerity. “I understand why that would be frustrating. It’s partly why I haven’t bothered dating for so long, to be honest. The idea of sharing my life, being intimate with someone. I mean, how do you ever know if you really, truly know someone? They could have some double life that you aren’t aware of, all because you're blinded by the fucking love bubble. You could be together for years, and you still won't know everything about them. You can’t read their mind, or know what they're doing when you’re not around. It fucking scares me.” 

Her words chilled you to your core, voicing the demons that had plagued your mind for days. How much did you really know about Arthur? The voice inside your head spoke up to torment you some more. _Dumb bitch, you met a guy and within weeks invited him into your life and let your guard down._

Sam laughed, pulling you from your thoughts. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. You shouldn’t listen to me anyway, I’ve always been a pessimistic asshole.” Fear must have been written all over your face because she gently squeezed your shoulder. “Hey, don’t listen to me. Clearly you really care about the guy if it’s bothering you this much. And chances are _really good_ that I'm completely wrong and projecting my own fucked-up opinions onto the situation. You want my advice? Talk to him. Ask him about it, be honest with him and hopefully he'll be honest in return.” She shrugs. “They can’t all be assholes, right? Maybe you found one of the good ones. Don’t throw something with potential away, just because you get stuck in your own head without knowing the whole story. Otherwise you’ll end up like me, and that’s the last thing you want.” She winked, and you couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Gee, you should write poetry.” 

“That's what I’ve always thought!” You both laughed, and for the first time in days you felt your spirit lighten a tiny bit. “Thanks, Sam. I feel better, honestly.” 

She nodded and smirked, standing up from the table. “What can I say, I was probably a poet in my past life. Let me know how things go once you have a chance to talk with him, alright? I’ve gotta get back on the clock.” And with that she was gone. You sighed, replaying her words in your mind. 

Later you picked up a fresh bottle of pills from Ben, thanking him quietly. You needed them desperately, having finished off your last bottle yesterday. You eagerly popped one in your mouth, washed it down and stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Dark bags hung beneath your eyes, and all the color had been sucked from your face. You felt dizzy for a moment, and leaned against the door until it passed. 

When you left work, you found yourself hoping that Arthur would surprise you at the corner, the way he had the first night he kissed you. You tried to ignore the sting of disappointment when he was nowhere to be seen, and waited at the bus stop in quiet solitude. 

As soon as you closed the door to your apartment, you stripped and climbed into a scalding hot shower. Sam was right, you needed to talk to Arthur. You needed to ask him about the performance at Pogo’s and find out what had happened to his mother. You needed to know what he wasn't telling you. Which meant you needed to find him. He hadn’t come looking for you, but you could certainly go looking for him. 

Tomorrow you would go to his apartment, bang on the door until he let you in, and and he would explain everything. Your mind made up, you turned off the water and slipped on an oversized t-shirt without bothering to dry yourself off. You swallowed a pill and finished your glass of wine, climbed into bed, and pulled the bedding all the way over your head. It took hours, but you finally drifted off. 

*** 

A hammering sound caused you to sit up, alarm pumping in your veins. Disoriented from sleep, you caught sight of your alarm clock and moaned. “It’s four in the goddamn morning. Shut up!” You shouted, figuring it was your neighbor.

When it didn’t stop, it dawned on you that it was someone pounding on your door. Your heart thudded in your chest, and you were frozen for a moment before leaping to your feet and hitting the ground running. You unlocked the door and threw it open, falling into and wrapping your arms around him without a second thought. “I was so worried,” you cried, your words muffled against him. Suddenly you felt a dampness against your skin, and pulled away in confusion. You took in his appearance. He was utterly soaked, his hair hanging low across his face and dripping wet. His focus was somewhere on the ground, his expression eerily empty. 

Panicked, you pulled him inside and hastily shut and locked the door. You turned to see him facing away from you, motionless. You hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder, stepping closer. “Arthur… are you ok? What happened? Where have you been?” He was unresponsive, and you decided that talking could wait. You pulled him into your room and stood him beside the bed. You quickly searched your closet, grabbing a t-shirt and pair of sweats. You found a towel in the bathroom, and when you returned he hadn't moved a muscle. 

You stripped his shirt off, undoing his pants and pulling them down his legs. You looked up in concern, worried he might be uncomfortable. His gaze was vacant, your actions clearly not even registering. You stripped his underwear, sitting him on the bed so you could pull his clothes over his ankles. Once he was completely bare, you tenderly dried him off with the towel, paying extra attention to his sopping wet hair. Once you were satisfied, you pulled the shirt and sweatpants onto him, a greater struggle than you’d anticipated. You climbed onto the bed, guiding him up to the pillows and pulling the covers over both of you. He turned onto his side, facing away from you. You hesitated for a moment, the doubts of the past few days creeping into your mind. You forced them away, choosing to cuddle up against his back and wrapping an arm around him protectively. His skin was still shockingly cold, but you didn't care: he was _here._

You were surprised how easily you fell asleep. 

It didn’t last long. 

***

Your eyes shot open to find the room still dark. The familiar sense of dread had returned, and you quickly sat up. In the shadows, you could see the outline of Arthur sitting on the far edge of the bed. You whispered his name, answered with silence. You crept out from under the sheets, moving to sit beside him. His face was downturned, the same vacant look from earlier.

“I had a bad day.” He whispered, and you scooted closer, gently brushing at his hair. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You asked quietly, aching for him. 

The room was silent for a long time before his low, expressionless voice crackled back to life. “My mother let him. She didn’t stop it. She could have stopped it.” 

“Stopped what, Arthur?” Your blood ran cold when he let out a disturbingly calm chuckle. 

“She said there was something wrong with me. She knew the truth the whole time. It’s her fault. She let it happen.” 

“Arthur, you’re not making any sense.” He laughed again, and you wondered if he was even aware of your presence. 

“They all abandoned me. My parents abandoned me. My mother abandoned me.” He giggled. 

“Arthur… your mother loves you.” 

“She is _not_ my mother.” He snapped, and you winced at his harsh tone. “She let him hurt me. She let him do this to me.”

“Arthur, who did what to you?” you cried, desperate to understand his scrambled thoughts.

“I don’t know!” his voice rose to a fever pitch, your blood chilling at the sound. “I don’t know him. He hurt me, and she let him. He hurt my head.” 

Trying to fit the pieces together, you thought out loud. “Ok… So your mother, who isn’t really your mother, let a man hurt your head?” 

“I’m adopted.” He stated the words simply, factually, coldly. 

Your stomach flipped. “She adopted you and then let a man hurt you?” your brow furrowed. “Arthur… is that man the reason you… suffer episodes?” 

He started laughing, a hollow sound that erupted from his throat. It carried on for minutes, but you quickly realized it wasn’t being triggered by his affliction. This was a different laugh, one that didn't seem at all painful. You were simultaneously greatly relieved, and deeply disturbed. 

“She’s… crazy.” He said between laughter. “Thomas Wayne told me. I read it at Arkham.”

With every sentence, you found yourself more baffled. “You went to Arkham?” 

“I took the file so I could read it. I found the adoption paper. I saw the pictures. He tied me up. She let him. It’s her fault … She knew, she’s always known. She let it happen. She could have stopped it.” He kept repeating the last sentence to himself, over and over again. 

“Arthur, please just lie down with me. You need to rest, and in the morning you can explain everything. I want to understand it all. I’ve been so worried about you; do you know that? I’ve been scared to death that something happened to you. Please relax with me so we can talk about this in the morning. Will you do that for me?” You pleaded with him, softly tugging on his arm. Your only response was him silently looking at your hand on his arm. 

Wordlessly, he moved up the bed, resting back on the pillows and facing away from you once again. Eventually you climbed under the covers, resting you head on a pillow and gazing at him miserably. You were torn, so badly wanting to comfort him, to feel his arms wrapped around you. He hadn't looked at you once tonight, and his lifeless eyes made him seem like an empty shell, a shadow. The last time he was in your bed, you were sharing your bodies with one another, connected in every way. Now you were too afraid to touch him, the inches of space between you feeling more like an infinite void. 

Your tender, sweet, innocent man seemed broken. Someone had hurt him, and you wanted more than anything to heal the wound. 

As you cried yourself to sleep, you silently hoped that he wasn't listening.


	11. A Darker Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confused by Arthur's rambling the night before, Brooke goes searching for answers... and doesn't like what she finds.

It shouldn’t surprise you, but it still does. He’s gone. For a moment, you wondered if you’d dreamt the entire thing. But your gut wouldn’t allow you to lie to yourself.

You reached a hand out, and let it hover in the empty space he used to fill. You wondered when he’d left. Did he sneak out while the room was still bathed in shadows, after your crying had subsided and he was sure you were asleep? 

Did he even look at you before he left? You let yourself wallow in despair for a long while, replaying the night in your mind. Eventually you forced yourself to move, sitting up in bed and listening to the silence. To your dismay, your eyes were drawn toward the wall beside you. 

The sketch taunted you, and your chest began to tighten. You forced yourself to look away. You couldn’t lose it, not now. A new sense of determination took hold of you, and you realized that you needed answers. 

You quickly got dressed, not even bothering to look in the mirror. You slipped on a warm jacket and locked your apartment, heading straight down the elevator and into the cold. You followed the same path as before, down the city blocks before arriving at the familiar staircase. 

You quickly ascended them, ignoring the shortness of breath and lengthening your strides as the building came into view. Immediately catching the elevator, you got off on his floor. Your confidence started to wane as you turned the corner and down the hallway, unsure of what you were going to say to him. 

You slowed as you approached his apartment, pausing to build up willpower before finally knocking on the door. You pressed an ear to it, holding your breath to hear even the slightest of sounds. Nothing. You gave it a few seconds, before knocking louder and once again hearing nothing from inside. With clenched teeth, you prepared to pound your fist against the door. 

Something stopped you though, an odd thought coming to mind. Glancing quickly in both directions, you made sure nobody was around and tentatively grabbed the doorknob. _Surely, it wouldn’t…_

But then the knob turned, and it kept turning…and kept turning. You gulped, a lump the size of a baseball filling your throat. In utter shock, you pushed against the door and it slowly opened. _What. The. Fuck._ You felt a giant pang of pride in yourself, and almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity. 

The silent celebration died a quick death, however, as you realized the gravity of the situation. You stepped into the apartment as quietly as possible and slowly closed the door behind you. You found yourself pausing, feeling as if you had reached a threshold of some sort. 

Were you really going to do this? Were you going to snoop, invade his privacy, overstep this boundary? You felt sick to your stomach, heart dropping at the realization that you couldn’t sink to this level. You wanted to find answers, but not this way. 

As you turned to leave the phone rang, scaring you so badly you were thankful to have an empty bladder. _What if you weren’t alone in the apartment? What if he was here, and simply hadn’t answered the door? For that matter, what if his mother was home from the hospital?_ You were frozen in fear, the ringing of the telephone now deafening. You carefully listened for any footsteps, prepared to make a quick escape. 

The apartment remained silent, however, and the phone finally stopped ringing. 

“Arthur Fleck, this is detective Garrity, just wanted to try and get ahold of you one more time. We stopped by your apartment again yesterday but missed you. Like I said, we’ve still got some questions we want to ask you and would really appreciate if you could give us a call back, or just come by the station whenever you get a chance. Again, this is detective Garrity, and I hope to hear from you soon.” 

You stayed still long after the voicemail ended, apprehension hanging in the air and making it hard to breathe. Why would detectives want to talk to Arthur, what could they possibly want to question him about?

You clenched your eyes shut, knowing that you couldn’t turn back now. You’d crossed the threshold. 

You turned to the left and found yourself looking at his kitchen. Straight ahead was the living room, and you could see the bedroom branching off to the right. The layout was almost exactly the same as your own apartment. 

By now you were fairly positive that nobody was home, but you still tiptoed, feeling like you were in enemy territory. You stepped into the kitchen, brow furrowed as you noticed contents from the fridge tossed around the floor, even the shelves and crisper drawers. The fridge door was ajar, and smelled slightly of bad produce. You headed back to the main hallway, and that’s when you spotted the home phone. 

The detective’s voicemail continued to perplex you. You glanced up and were taken aback by some papers hung in disarray on the wall, all regarding the Wayne employee murders. It was more than odd, and you weren’t sure what to make of it. Moving on, you found yourself in a small living space. There was a couch and a TV, and the femininity of the décor struck you. The apartment had clearly been put together by his mother: you struggled to picture Arthur living here. There were cigarette butts everywhere around the apartment, not that you were surprised. 

Near the TV you spot something that makes you smile woefully. It’s his tapes of the Murray show, and your heart sinks as Murray’s brutal words and the laughter of the audience plays in your mind. God, you hoped with everything in you that he’d been spared the pain of witnessing that. 

You continue on, entering the bedroom. Once again, the décor strikes you as outdated and a bit overwhelming. There’s another TV in front of the bed, and you suddenly picture Arthur sitting here with his mother, smiling, watching Murray. You feel a pang of wistfulness, a gut feeling that those moments are forever in the past. 

There’s a nice vanity against the wall, surrounded on either side by windows. You almost turn to leave the room, when something catches your eye. It looks like a journal of some sort. It’s worn, and has a permanent bend to its pages. Curiosity getting the best of you, you flip it open and are immediately shocked by a photo of a naked woman.

Your heartbeat pounding in your ears, you sit at the vanity and take a closer look. The pages are covered in cluttered, messy writing. Your mouth is dry and a dull pain begins to pulse in your temples as you discover more disturbing photos, and even a few drawings. You try to make out some of the words, soon realizing that this must be where he writes his jokes. 

With each turn of the page, the horrific reality sets in. The truth of his mental state is poured out over these pages, the evidence staring you right in the face. This isn’t Arthur. _It can’t be,_ you pleaded. The lewd photos, the dark and ominous drawings scattered throughout.

You pause on one page in particular, the writing standing out. There’s a few simple jokes, riddled with misspellings. _Why are poor peeple always confusd? Because they don’t make any cents._

Then your gaze catches on the joke that seems to take up most of the page.

_The worst part about having a mental illness is people expect you to behave as if you don’t._

Then, another shock.

_I just hope my death makes more cents than my life._

You feel lightheaded, tasting blood and realizing you’ve been forcefully biting into your own lip. 

Seven medications. He’d told you what they were, and you hadn’t recognized any of them. You’d assumed it was the usual stuff, anxiety or depression. But the disturbing and fractured contents of his journal… what was he actually being treated for?

Or, rather… What was he _not_ being treated for? Chills ran down your spine. 

You’d known he struggled, but the way he’d acted last night…catatonic was the only word that came to mind. All of his ramblings about being adopted, Thomas Wayne, some man beating him… what had happened to him the past few days? Whatever it was, had clearly caused some sort of mental collapse. And you’d been completely in the dark. 

_All the progress…I’m afraid none of it was real, that he’s been falling apart this entire time…_

That’s when true panic began to burst through you. 

_How do you ever know if you really, truly know someone? They could have some double life that you aren’t aware of, all because you’re blinded by the fucking love bubble._

Suddenly you felt it. You rushed to Arthur’s bathroom, puking in the toilet and flushing it down. You sat for a moment, collecting your thoughts. 

Ok so the sweet, soft Arthur you’d come to know had a darker side to him. Didn’t everyone?

You rinsed your mouth out in the sink, suddenly desperate to leave the apartment. You took one last glance around before letting yourself out into the hallway and quickly catching the elevator.

Your breathing didn’t even out until his building was out of sight.


	12. Everyone is Cruel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke finds herself unexpectedly face-to-face with Arthur, and the truth is revealed.

*** Later That Day***

You would've called out sick, but needed to talk with Sam. Maybe she would know what to do. You’d spent the rest of the morning trying to decide how to move forward; should you try to contact Arthur’s old therapist, ask them what they’d been treating him for? Should you try to contact the police, that detective Garrity, and report Arthur as missing? Sam would know, or she would at least have an opinion. 

So you found yourself taking orders and filling water cups as usual, eagerly waiting to pull Sam aside. The afternoon rush was coming to an end, and things were beginning to slow down. You headed toward the _employee only_ door, ready to take your break.

“Brooke.” 

You stopped in your tracks, eyes wide. Arthur sat at the very back table, his face veiled in shadows.

“Arthur… jesus christ, where have you been? I… are you okay? Last night… fuck, I was so worried.” You glanced around for a moment before sitting across from him at the table for two. He was staring at you, leaning back against the booth with his hands folded against his lap.

A flicker of wariness hit you as you remembered his apartment. The journal. The detective. You hadn’t even had a chance to talk with Sam about anything yet; you were completely unprepared. The thought of bringing up your recent discoveries made you want to puke. 

He was still staring at you, motionless. 

Your palms were growing sweaty beneath the table. 

“Arthur?” your voice wavered. 

The silence continued for minutes, your hands clasped and sweat beading across your body as Arthur seemed to study you. 

“Did you like them?” he asked, an edge of accusation and sarcasm twisting his voice into something you barely recognized. 

“Like what?” you responded meekly.

“My jokes. Did you like them.” 

The color drained from your face. “I… I don’t know what you…” you trailed off, realizing it was pointless. He knew. You felt sick as you remembered your rush to leave his apartment, the journal you’d probably left sitting open. 

A bitter chuckle pulled you back to the present. 

You bit your lip, looking back at him. The smile on his face made you freeze, the cold and calculated look in his eyes. You were looking at a stranger. Your eyes darted toward the tables closest to you. They were empty. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Brooke.” He stated quietly, the hostile grin falling from his face. 

You met his gaze, feeling yourself tremble. “Arthur, please. Let me help you.” He started to interrupt but you quickly continued. “I know I shouldn’t have… I didn’t _mean_ to read the journal, I went looking for you… I was worried, after last night I mean. I found your door unlocked and was afraid something might have happened to you. And then I just… I found the journal and read some of it, and I’m _so sorry_ for overstepping my boundaries… but Arthur… you should have _told_ me...I didn’t realize you were struggling and I would have helped you. You know that, right? You can tell me _anything_, Arthur. _Anything_. Please believe me when I say that I'm no stranger to dark thoughts. I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide things from me. I just want you to tell me the truth, _all_ of it. Do you really believe you’re adopted, what does Thomas Wayne have to do with it, why did you go to Arkham… I want to know everything you’ve been going through recently. I want you to let me help you.” When you finally stopped talking you were breathless, your hands on the table, pleading with him. 

He was still as a statue, completely unresponsive. 

“My mother was always obsessed with Thomas Wayne.” He began simply, and you leaned forward in eagerness. “Thomas Wayne this, Thomas Wayne that. It was an obsession. I’d send these letters for her, check for a response from him. She never told me exactly what she wrote about, just that he was a good man and would help us. She worked for him decades ago. I finally opened one of her letters. She called me his son – _Thomas Wayne’s son_.” He snorted, shaking his head. 

“I went to their house. I met Bruce, their son. I just wanted to meet him, make him smile, to be…I don’t know…a brother? A man came out, angry with me, I don’t know why. I asked him for Thomas, told him about my mother. He knew her name, I could tell. I told him I knew everything. He said my mother was delusional, a liar. He laughed at me.” Arthur was staring at you, looking through you. “I got home, my mother was being put in an ambulance. I went to the hospital with her. She had a stroke.”

You winced, tempted to reach out and hold his hand. “I heard. I’m sorry Arthur.” You whispered. 

“Don’t be.” His eyes narrowed. “I saw the Murray Franklin show, at the hospital.” 

Your heart sank, eyes closing for a moment. _No, no no no._

“He made fun of me. They were all laughing at me. I thought they were laughing at my joke. I was the joke.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek, emotion welling up in your throat.

“I went to this Wayne benefit. There were so many people there, all dressed like clowns. They were cheering. They were actually _cheering for me._ So many clowns.” He giggles, a smile lighting up his face. 

Your insides twisted. He sat across from you, giddy at the memory. Clowns. The papers hung above his telephone, all news about the men murdered by a clown. You gulped, heartbeat pumping in your ears. 

“Arthur… what do you mean… cheering for you.” You stuttered. 

He straightened, smiling with closed lips, staring at you intently. “I killed them.” He stated, as if reading an item off the menu.

Your vision blurred, your head felt heavy, the wind knocked out of you. _“no, no… no.”_You whimpered, gripping onto the table to keep from falling out of your chair. 

He shushed you, patting your hand. You pulled it away instantly, looking up and barely seeing him through the tears. He motioned to the restaurant around you. “We don’t want to make a scene.” He said it like a joke, almost laughing. 

The threat behind his words terrified you, and you forced yourself to shut up. Your mind was racing. _Killer clown on the loose. “I was a party clown.” His reaction when you first mentioned the murders, the way he’d shut down and behaved so strangely in the morning…_

You gasped, hand lifting to cover your mouth. “We slept together. We… we _slept together_… you’d already… you killed… we slept together… after you…” _the bruises all over his torso. “It’s not important, I took care of it. It doesn’t matter anymore. They don’t matter.” _

You had to swallow down the bile rising in your throat, shock overtaking you. When you glanced up at him, he simply nodded in confirmation. If it weren’t for the people nearby, you would have cried out in agony. Instead you did so quietly, your entire body shuddering. Eventually you gain enough control to choke out a painful word. _“Why?” _

You force yourself to look at him when you hear him scoff. “Why? Because you’re wrong about people. _Everyone_ is cruel. People you pass in the street, people walking on the sidewalk, people next to you on the bus, the people you draw sitting on park benches. My therapists, my doctors, Murray Franklin, his audience, my mother, Thomas Wayne… _everyone is cruel._” He pauses, reeling his anger back in. “I found Thomas Wayne. At that benefit. I found him in the bathroom and told him who I was. He told me I was adopted, he isn’t my father. My mother was crazy, taken to Arkham. He punched me in the face. All I wanted was for him to care, to _want_ me.” Arthur chuckled resentfully. “I went to Arkham. I had to know the truth. I stole my mother’s file. The adoption papers were right there. They don’t even know where I came from. _Child was abandoned._ Even when I was a baby nobody wanted me. There were pictures. She let her boyfriend beat me. I was tied to a radiator, starving with severe head trauma. She let it happen, when she could have stopped it. I spent my entire fucking life taking care of her, and she never even asked me how my day was, not once. All she ever cared about was herself. _Happy_, she called me. _Happy_. She was a sick bitch.” 

It was a lot to comprehend, and you tried to piece everything together. Finally, all of his ramblings from last night were making sense. You found yourself stuck on a word: _was_. You shrank back into your seat. 

“Arthur… where is your mother?” 

He laughed, his eyes crinkling. “She’s right where she belongs.” 

You cringed in disbelief. “Did you…”

He stared at you, biting his lip. “Don’t ask a question if you already know the answer.”

He was teasing you, cruelly. You searched his eyes, looking for anything familiar. For the first time, you realized you were terrified of him. Last night you’d been terrified, yes. But you’d been terrified _for_ him. Now, you were terrified _of_ him. There was nothing recognizable in his eyes.

“Those men, the ones on the subway?” he continued, his voice growing harsh, piercing. “They beat me. I didn’t pick a fight, they just beat me. I started laughing, tried to explain it to them. But they just beat me, and beat me, just like everyone else. I couldn’t _take it anymore._ So, I fought back. And it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I’ve never felt powerful before. _They_ were afraid of _me_. Those guys, Thomas Wayne, my mother... they're all the same; everyone just betrays me, beats me. _Nobody sees me. Nobody wants me._” He hissed. 

His words are like a knife in the chest. The seething anger was unlike anything you’d ever seen in him before. He was a different person entirely. Your mind flashes to the empty pill bottles on his kitchen counter. All of the progress you’d thought you’d seen in him… the new confidence, it all happened when he started going off his meds. He’d murdered people, gaining confidence from the control it gave him. 

You’d believed, naively, that his progress was somehow because of you. That somehow, he’d felt comfortable with you, safe. That your friendship, _relationship,_ helped him become comfortable with himself. 

“I’m so stupid, good god…” you groaned. “I can’t believe that I… what was I thinking? I can’t believe…” the tears began flowing again, your heart in your throat and your face hot. “Arthur, _I saw you. I wanted you._ I would never have betrayed you. I cared for you _so much,_ I was crazy about you. Why… why wasn’t that enough? _Why?”_ You were falling apart, a blubbering mess. People were beginning to notice, you could sense them glancing in your direction. 

For the first time, his eyes soften. And for just that moment, you catch a glimpse of Arthur.

“I wish it was.” He admits. 

He seemed to notice the looks being cast your direction. His eyes harden again, and just like that he’s gone. He leans forward, elbows resting on the table, his face finally emerging from the shadows. You sob quietly: it hurts to look at him. 

“I’ve been invited to the Murray show, tonight. You shouldn’t miss it.” 

He pulls back and stands, stepping past you. Before you could stop yourself, you were clutching his arm. He paused, his gaze meeting yours and his brow furrowed. He’s as shocked as you are by your touch. 

“Arthur… Please…” you plead. “Please, just come back to my apartment. Let me help you. Just you and me, the way it was. I can help you, I swear. I want to. I…” you tremble, your grip on him tightening. _“I love you, Arthur. Please let me help you.”_ You beg, desperate. 

Surprise flickers in his eyes, so fleeting you might've imagined it. 

He bends down, and you shiver as he presses his lips to your ear, his hand gently resting against your hair. 

“That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t need help.” He whispers, softly brushing your hair for a moment, letting his words sink in. Then he stands up, walks through the restaurant and out the door, never once looking back.

For a moment, you’re unsure if you can breathe or not, but when the air finally hits your lungs it’s unbearable. Clutching your chest, your vision goes black and you stumble out of your chair and onto the floor. You can distantly hear a commotion around you, people moving toward you. Mouth open in shock; the tears don’t stop and you find yourself unable to hold back heaving sobs. 

Somebody is holding you, rubbing your back and speaking with a calming voice. You can’t understand what they’re saying. You don’t remember much. You don’t remember leaving work, or arriving at your apartment, or being tucked into bed. 

All you can remember is him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if anyone is even reading this story lol 😬 I’m enjoying writing it so I will probably continue with it but hopefully someone out there is enjoying it somewhere!


	13. Please, Remember Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke receives a gift from Arthur, and tunes into the Murray show.

The sun had just gone down for the evening when your eyes fluttered open. Groggy, it took a moment to realized you were in bed; someone must have helped you get home. You felt hungover, eyes puffy and head heavy. Reaching to the bedside table, you quickly took two pills. You stumbled up, wrapped a blanket tightly around your shoulders and headed to the kitchen for a glass of wine.

You were reaching for the bottle when something on the counter caught your eye. It was a red folder, and it definitely wasn’t yours. Looking closer, you realized there was a note on it and picked it up.

_This was sitting outside your door. Let me know when you’re feeling better. Sam._

Confused, you looked back to the strange file. _Penny Fleck. Arkham Hospital._ You immediately grabbed it and sat on the couch, preparing yourself for what you already knew was inside. The first thing you found was a key. You picked it up cautiously, instantly recognizing the number on it. _Arthur’s apartment. Why would he give me his key?_

You studied each page in the file, taking in every bit of information. His mother had been diagnosed by a Dr. Benjamin Stoner, with delusional psychosis and narcissistic personality disorder. _Found guilty of endangering the welfare of her own child._ Your stomach flipped. 

She’d been admitted and lobotomized. It was all here, everything he’d told you. The adoption papers, too. _Child was abandoned. _She claimed the adoption was faked: Thomas had made it up and forced her to go along with it. 

_“You also stood by, while one of your boyfriends repeatedly abused your adopted son, and battered you. Penny, your son was found tied to the radiator, in your filthy apartment. Malnourished, with multiple bruises across his body and severe trauma to his head.” _

The words blurred as your eyes filled with tears. Sympathy tore through you, your hands trembling as you tried to continue reading. 

_“I never heard him crying. He’s always been such a happy little boy.” _

You covered your mouth, finding the news clippings. 

_Mother of Adopted Child Allowed Her Son’s Abuse._

_House of Terror for a Mother and Her Son. _

A sob escaped as you found pictures. A young Penny, battered. A radiator. A young Arthur. Innocent, tiny Arthur. Beaten, bruised. 

_“Everyone is cruel.”_ His words plagued your mind, and it hurt to imagine him reading the contents of this file…seeing these pictures. Hearing him explain it today at the Grill had been one thing, but reading it yourself… _seeing it yourself… _

The picture of Arthur fluttered to the floor, and you quickly bent to pick it up but froze when you realized it landed upside down. The underside was covered with large writing, matching Arthur’s handwriting from his journal. 

You lifted it into the soft glow of your lamp. 

_Please, Remember Me. _

A deep sob wracked your body. Your name was nowhere to be found, no sign that his words were targeted toward anyone in particular. But you knew, without doubt, it was meant for you. You cried into the blanket, the picture pressed against your chest. 

The file. The key. The message written for you to find. It all felt like… _a goodbye._

The tears subsiding, an unsettling feeling developed in your gut. Reaching for the remote, you checked the time and quickly flipped to the right channel. You chewed on your finger nails, waiting impatiently.

Finally, Murray. You barely listened to Dr. Sally, dread filling you. You tried to push the thought away, you really tried. But it was relentless. _He wouldn’t kill himself… would he?_ But each time you glanced down at his note, it made more sense. _Please, remember me. _

The sound of laughter pulled your eyes back to the television. You gasped, the all-to-familiar recording from Pogo’s filling the screen. 

“So please welcome, Joker!”

Startled, your brow furrowed. _Joker? _

Nothing could have prepared you for what happened next. You leaned forward on the couch, spellbound. A man in costume danced out from behind the curtains. A bright red suit, painted white face, blue triangles surrounding his eyes, lopsided red smile, bright green hair. 

“Arthur?” you whispered, stunned. He was spinning, dancing, grinning, shaking Murray’s hand with all the confidence in the world. His eyes twinkled. You gasped as he kissed Dr. Sally, astonished as you watched him sit in the chair. The camera zoomed in on him and you squinted, trying to focus, trying to be sure that it was really him. 

“This is _exactly_ how I imagined it.” He said, dazed. There was no denying, you would recognize his voice anywhere. It really was him. Your heart thumped uncontrollably, remembering the stack of recorded Murray shows next to his TV.

“So, can you tell us about this look. When we spoke earlier, you mentioned that this look is not a political statement.” 

Arthur shook his head, his green hair framing his face. “That’s right, Murray. I’m not political. I’ma, just tryna make people laugh.” 

“And how’s that going for you?” Murray retorted. 

Arthur laughed along with the audience, sending chills down your spine. It wasn’t his affliction. It was…shrill. Controlled. Maniacal. Spiteful. Your eyes widened as Arthur shot Murray a look that could kill. Your palms immediately started to sweat. You rubbed at your temples, trying unsuccessfully to calm your breathing. 

“You wanna tell us a joke?” Murray asked. Arthur pulled out his journal, his face lit up in a smile. Why was he putting on an act? Was he planning something? 

Your breath caught as Arthur flipped to a page and seemed to freeze, reading something unseen. The disturbing words filling his journal crowded your mind. What was he reading, what had thrown him off so intensely? 

The silence stretched on. “Take your time, we’ve got all night.” Murray jabbed, and a seething anger rose within you. _How dare he. How dare he bring Arthur on, just to treat him like a joke. _

“Ok, here’s one. Knock, knock.” Arthur announced, evidently pulled out of his stupor. 

“And you had to look that up?” You barely stopped yourself from throwing the remote at the screen. 

“I wanna get it right. Knock, knock.” 

“Who’s there?”

“It’s the police, ma’am. Your son’s been hit by a drunk driver. He’s dead.” Your forehead dropped into your palm. You listened to Dr. Sally and Murray berate Arthur for the joke, your eyes clenched tightly shut. 

“It’s just, you know. It’s been a rough few weeks, Murray. Ever since I… killed those three wall street guys.”

You shot up to standing, the blanket falling onto the couch behind you. _No, no, NO Arthur. _

“Ok, I’m waiting for the punchline.” 

“There is no punchline. It’s not a joke.” 

You scrambled over the coffee table, bringing yourself as close to the screen as possible. 

“You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re telling us you killed those three young men on the subway.”

“Uh huh.” 

“And, why should we believe you?” 

Arthur shrugged, almost coyly. “Got nothing left to lose. Nothing can hurt me anymore. My life is nothing but a comedy.” He chuckled. His words were light and playful, but his eyes… there was so much pain behind them. _This is all some kind of…armor. He’s using this…character, to protect himself. Right?_

“Let me get this straight. You think that killing those guys is funny?” 

Arthur nodded. “I do. And I’m _tired_ of pretending it’s not. Comedy is subjective, Murray. Isn’t that what they say? All of _you_, this system that knows _so much,_you decide what’s right, or wrong. The same way that you decide what’s _funnay,_ or not.” Arthur teased. He was so… dynamic, so unlike himself. 

“Ok, I think I might understand that you did this to start a movement, to become a symbol?” 

“Come on, _Murray._ Do I look like the kind of clown that could start a movement? I killed those guys because they were _awful. Everybody_ is _awful_ these days. It’s enough to make anyone crazy." 

“So that’s it, you’re crazy. That’s your defense for killing three young men?” 

Arthur shrugged with raised eyebrows. “Nah. They couldn’t carry a tune to save their lives.” He jested, groaning when the audience booed. “Oh, _why_ is everyone so _upset_ about these guys? If it was me dying on the sidewalk, you’d walk right over me. I pass you every day and you don’t notice me, but what, these guys, because _Thomas Wayne_ went and cried about them on TV?” 

Your heart broke at the agony in his voice, his self-assured performance beginning to crack. He was completely unhinged, completely broken. _Is this his plan? To make a point about his life… and then end it, to make a statement?_

“You have a problem with Thomas Wayne?” 

“Yes, I, do. Have you _seen_ what it’s like out there, Murray? Do you ever actually leave the studio? Everybody just _yells_ and _screams_ at each other. Nobody's _civil_ anymore!” Arthur cried passionately. “Nobody _thinks_ what it’s like to be the other guy. You think men like Thomas Wayne, _ever_ think what it’s like to be someone like me? To be somebody but themselves? _They don’t._ They think that we’ll just _sit there,_ and _take it_, like _good little boys._ That we won’t _werewolf_, and go _wild!”_

“You finished?” Murray interjected. “I mean there’s so much self-pity, Arthur. You sound like you’re making excuses for killing those young men. Not everybody, and I’ll tell you this, not everyone is awful.” 

Arthur glared, lip quivering in anger. You could feel his rage through the screen. 

“_You’re awful, Murray._” He accused. 

“Me, _I’m_ awful? Oh yeah how am I awful?” 

Arthur’s jaw was clenched, his words low and dangerous. His voice was just as unrecognizable as his face. 

“Playing my video. Inviting me on the show. You just wanted to make fun of me. You’re _just like the rest of them.” _

“You don’t know the first thing about me, pal. Look what happened because of what _you_ did, what it _led_ to. There are riots out there. Two policemen are in critical condition, and you’re _laughing_, you’re _laughing_. Someone was _killed_ today, because of what you did.” 

You watched in horror at Arthur’s beaming smile, his careless glee. 

“I know. How about another joke, Murray?” He goaded. Through the pixelated picture, you could see it: his eyes were filled with tears. 

“Arthur, _please don’t do it._” you whispered, hands gripping the edges of the TV. 

“No, I think we’ve had enough of your jokes.” 

“What do you get, when you cross a _mentally ill loner,_ with a society that _abandons him,_ and treats him like _trash?!”_ Your jaw dropped, tears filling your eyes as the rage he’d been holding inside burst to the surface. “I’ll tell you what you get. You get what you _fucking deserve!”_

“NO!” You screamed, the explosion of the gunshot blasting through the speakers. It took a moment to sink in, your hands covering your mouth, your ears ringing, your heart beating rapidly. 

Murray was dead. Not Arthur. _Murray. Arthur shot him in the head. Murray, not Arthur. _

You were still, trying to process what you’d witnessed. Arthur’s legs were shaking. He was laughing. Then he shot him. Again. _He shot Murray. _

You took a step back in shock as Arthur skipped up to the camera, his eerily familiar face suddenly filling your screen. 

“Goodnight. And always remember: that’s li –“ 

The feed abruptly cut, and he was gone. 

You sank to the floor, traumatized. Your hands were shaking and you couldn’t make it stop. You felt…_dirty. _

He killed him. Arthur shot Murray in the head. You’d been so sure he was going to kill himself… You were sickened by the realization that you felt relieved. _He killed people. He killed those men. He killed his mother. He killed Murray. He’s a murderer._ You practically chanted it, trying to feel some sense of contempt towards him. 

But all you could see was the tears in his eyes, the pain evident behind his bright makeup. When you looked at him, all you could see was a broken man. _What was wrong with you?_

How was this your life, how had this happened? You’d let yourself get close to him, sucked in to a love bubble. You’d thought you were making the _mature_ choice, somehow. Choosing someone _better_ than all your other boyfriends. Someone kind, and sweet, and caring. You’d thought you were good for each other, helping one another. 

The worst part, you realized, was how obvious it was. So many red flags, small moments that should have triggered alarm bells in your brain. It was so blatantly clear that he'd changed right after the murders in the subway. Getting fired from his job, as a _clown_, around the same time. His smile when the clowns walked past you at the diner. His distant and suspicious behavior when you casually mentioned the murders. The papers hanging in his apartment, hung up like prizes he'd won. It was so _obvious_. And maybe, deep down... a part of you had known all along. Maybe you'd internalized your suspicions and subconsciously ignored all of the signs. Maybe you could have stopped it all from happening, maybe you could have _helped_ him. 

And now here you were, faced with the reality of who he was. A murderer. A man that was mentally sick beyond your comprehension. A person so broken, they were destroying themselves and creating something monstrous in the rubble. Someone who, just today, stared at you like he’d never even known you. Had coldly confessed to his murders, watching indifferently as you cried. A man that had brutally murdered someone on live TV, right before your very eyes. _That’s_ the man you’d welcomed into your life, after so many years spent in solitude. That’s the man you’d _slept_ with, the man who’d made you blush like a schoolgirl with a crush. You’d let things move so _quickly,_ ignoring all of the signs, simply because you were _happy._ And look where it had gotten you. 

Rage turned your vision red, your face burning with shame. “Fuck!” you snapped, lashing out at yourself. Your hands shook fiercely. Suddenly you were on your feet and snatching the Arkham file off of the coffee table. You thundered into the kitchen, tossing pots out of the cupboard until you found one large enough. You placed it on the counter, set the red file in it, and quickly found your lighter. 

Just as the flame came to life, you stopped, remembering something. Teeth clenched, you stormed to the bedroom. Laser-focused, you didn’t hesitate to yank the sketch off the wall, sending the tack flying across the room. 

It joined the file, and you held the lighter out in front of you, chest heaving. The orange and yellow flame flickered, and you tried to focus on it, on the burning anger in your soul. 

But your gaze flickered to the sketch. There he was, sprawled on your bed, face turned to the window. 

Desperation filled you, and you tried to refocus on the lighter. _You have to do this._

But your eyes flickered back, back to the softness of his features. The lines of his face, so relaxed. You could remember the peacefulness of that moment. 

You closed your eyes, recalling what it had felt like to be kissed by him. To touch him. To be touched by him. 

The passionate rage was quickly being replaced with passionate despair, and you cried out at your own weakness. 

It had felt so good to make love to him, to share yourself with him. You could see his green eyes as he held himself above you, looking at you like you’d hung the moon and stars. You could feel him moving inside you, the connection so strong it had felt almost otherworldly. 

_“It was the best night of my whole life.” _

Opening your eyes, your shoulders shook as you sobbed. The flame was gone. 

You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t fucking do it. You sank to the floor, curling your arms around your legs and pulling them tightly against your chest. After everything he’d done, you couldn’t bring yourself to try to destroy the memories. Those moments were real, they had happened, and nothing could make you regret them. 

_I should, though. I should hate him. I should regret all of it. I made a fool of myself._

You’d made a fool of yourself. You’d taken a chance. You’d been so closed off to love for so long, hiding behind carefully constructed walls. You’d kept everyone at a distance. 

A strange clarity washed over you. You’d thought you were helping Arthur. You’d let him in. You’d fallen for his tenderness, his innocence, everything about him. You’d let the walls around your heart fall one-by-one. You’d been so terrified of being hurt, for so many years. The way your boyfriends had hurt you, the way your parents had hurt you, the way your sister had hurt you. You’d lived in self-imposed isolation for most of your adult life. 

But you’d let him in. All the time you’d thought you were helping him… he’d been helping you. Helping you remember how to let someone in. Helping you learn how to love again. _You loved him. _

It was utterly crippling to realize that you’d failed to help him in return. 

You’d failed, and now he was gone. The Arthur in your sketch would exist only in your memory. He’d been destroyed, overtaken by a darkness that went by another name. 

But you would remember him. 


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4 Months after the Joker's debut

*** 4 Months Later***

You glanced around your apartment, trying to decide what else you needed. You didn’t have much room left in the boxes, but that was alright – you didn’t want to take much with you. In fact, you wanted to leave as much behind as possible. You’d already settled things with your landlord, gotten all your ducks in a row. It was time. 

You had all of the necessities, things you couldn’t survive without. You had clothes, toiletries, some kitchen gear. The picture of your family, along with a few other family keepsakes. Your eyes caught on the last box, the one that hurt the most. 

A burgundy colored shirt, an unopened box of cigarettes, a number of VHS tapes, a key, a red Arkham file, and, of course, a sketch. You smiled wistfully, briefly feeling the soft material of the shirt. You closed your eyes, instantly transported to the night that would haunt you forever. 

*** The Night of Murray’s Murder***

The air felt colder than usual, stinging your skin. As you grew closer to the downtown city blocks, the air glowed with an orange haze. The streets were on fire not far from you - you’d seen it on the news before running out the door. Shouting broke out to your left, making you flinch. 

To your chagrin, it was a group of people in clown masks. They were on the other side of the street though, and far ahead of you. Probably heading toward the chaos. The chances of them turning around and spotting you were slim, but you did your best to stay in the shadows anyway. Gotham was already a dangerous place to be at night, let alone this night. 

But you had to. You picked up your pace, and when you reached the foreboding staircase, you took them three at a time. You were in the elevator and arriving on his floor in no time. Gripping the key tightly, you made your way down the hallway. When his door came into view, you stopped for a moment, listening for any sounds. Making sure there were no neighbors watching, no detectives at Arthur’s apartment; no witnesses. 

Absolute silence. Perfect. You stepped up to his door, quickly unlocking it, stepping inside, and instantly relocking it behind you. Turning, you were met with darkness. You’d brought a flashlight with you, so you could avoid turning the lights on. At this point, you were pretty sure that nobody knew of your involvement with Arthur. And you needed to keep it that way. You couldn’t risk turning the lights on and getting caught. 

You flipped the switch, letting the beam of light point into the living room. Everything looked normal, exactly how you remembered. You stepped forward, and almost yelped when your foot nearly slid out from under you. Regaining your balance, you pointed the light downward and covered your mouth in shock. A pool of blood on the floor, dark red spattered on the wall. Your stomach heaved, and you struggled not to puke. There was so much of it. Something shiny caught the light, and you tentatively stepped closer to find a pair of scissors. 

You looked away, trying not to imagine how they’d been used. You were looking at a murder weapon. This must be how he killed his mother. Carefully stepping around the blood, you slowly scanned the room, petrified that you would find a dead body. There was none. But you noticed the blood had smeared, a slight trail of it along the carpet. Horrified, you followed it…and found that it ended at the bathroom. The door was shut tight. 

You whimpered quietly, lifting your shaking hand to the doorknob. You tried to steady yourself, prepare yourself. Your trembling only intensified, and you closed your eyes, reconsidering. After a moment, you pulled your hand away. You couldn’t bring yourself to do it. It’d been one thing to witness him murder on a screen. But to see it in person, to see the evidence right in front of you…you’d already been traumatized enough. This trauma, you would save for the police. Let them open the door. 

You’d known this would become a crime scene. Most likely within the next few hours – no, hour. Police, detectives, detective Garrity, would soon swarm the apartment. There was no question of his crimes, now that he’d admitted to them on live TV. This apartment would be blocked off, everything in it potential evidence. Especially now, with a dead body just beyond this door. 

It all meant that you didn’t have long. This was your only chance to be in this space. The thought made your breathing slow, a sense of melancholy setting in as you gazed around the bedroom, trying to take it all in. This is where Arthur had lived, slept, ate, watched Murray, taken care of his mother. 

You ran your fingertips over the blanket on the bed, taking everything in. Beside the bed was an unopened pack of cigarettes. Picking them up, you hesitated for a moment before slipping them into your pocket. You approached his closet, running your hands along his shirts. You recognized one in particular, a burgundy long-sleeve he’d been wearing the night you met at the Pharmacy. You pulled it off the hanger. Your breath caught in your throat when you noticed the makeup, spread out across the vanity. You quickly turned away. Once you’d exhausted the bedroom, you reentered the living room. Ignoring the blood, you studied the decorations on the wall. When you spotted his recordings of the Murray show, you almost didn’t grab them. Murray had scarred Arthur so deeply, and things had come to such a violent end. But for some reason, you couldn’t leave them behind. You wrapped the burgundy shirt around them, tucking everything inside your coat. 

You numbly stepped over the blood, glanced into the kitchen, and decided your time here had come to an end. With a final sweep of the flashlight, you found your eyes growing wet. The rooms were empty shells, ghosts of a life that no longer existed. 

*** Present Day***

You blinked, shaking your head to clear it. Forcing the emotions welling in your chest away, you taped up the boxes. Whatever you forgot, you could always replace. You’d been working extra hours at the Grill, building up some extra money to prepare for your fresh start. 

Sam initially had a lot of questions. What happened that day at work? Did someone hurt you? Who do I need to punch in the face for you? You didn’t blame her for asking. You’d passed out on the floor and she’d practically carried you home. You simply told her it was family issues; she didn’t believe you, but eventually stopped bringing it up. 

Oh, Sam. Part of you felt awful. You’d picked up a paycheck yesterday, and would never show up to work again. She had absolutely no idea. Your new apartment was on the opposite side of the city, far on the outskirts. You didn’t want to spend another day here, constantly being suffocated by memories. 

Nobody had approached you, asking if you’d ever met Arthur Fleck. You’d spent the first weeks after Murray paranoid, sure that someone was following you. But nothing ever came of it. Somehow, you’d escaped the investigation. And boy, was there an investigation. 

Arthur’s apartment had been closed off and searched, the city suddenly obsessed with trying to piece together who this madman was. The contents of his apartment were broadcast to the world, launching massive theories regarding his backstory. This included, of course, the corpse that was discovered in the bathtub. The blood, which you’d assumed was his mothers, had actually belonged to one of his coworkers, Randall. You could only assume it was the coworker that lied about Arthur to their boss, getting him fired. If any of that was true, that is. You would always be thankful that you hadn’t opened that bathroom door. 

The riots hadn’t stopped. In fact, they’d gotten worse. The death of Thomas Wayne had triggered complete political and economic disarray. The piles of trash had only continued to grow. Criminals had grown bolder after Arthur’s public declarations against society, against the system. 

He’d disappeared, almost as if he’d never existed in the first place. For a short while there were reports, claiming he’d been killed during the riots and dumped into some body of water. Or that he’d been arrested, and was currently locked up in some sort of super-secret government torture dungeon. But then evidence started popping up. It seemed like every time you turned on the news, there was a new criminal in a clown mask being arrested. A few of them proudly claimed to be his henchmen, out doing his dirty work. A few people even claimed to have seen him, with his signature green hair and red suit. People with connections to Arthur had mysteriously shown up dead. You knew he was alive.

In truth, you’d stopped being afraid of the detectives and police a while ago. There was nothing tying you to him, no evidence that you’d ever even known him. It had been months - if there was anything to find, they would have found it already. No, you’d quickly become afraid of something else. Something far more terrifying. 

You imagined Arthur showing up at the grill, or suddenly knocking on your door in the middle of the night. You worried that he was tying up loose ends, and that you were one of them. 

So, you were leaving no trace behind. No information for him to find. A clean break from work, a new apartment, a new phone number, a new job, everything. 

He’d created a new life for himself, and you needed to do the same. 

You could never let him find you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say a quick thank-you to everyone that has read this story. Being my first fanfiction, please don't be afraid to point out mistakes I made or ways that I could improve my writing - it would be much appreciated :) 
> 
> I fee like I should have put out some kind of warning at the beginning of this story. "Caution: I'm a pisces INFP nostalgic bitch" 
> 
> I'm obsessed with this storyline and have lots of ideas on continuation, so be on the lookout for a sequel. It may end up just being a series of one-shots, glimpses of Arthur and Brooke in the future, or a full-on storyline. Let me know if you have any ideas or suggestions for where I could take the story!


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